


Days Like These

by Dickensgal31



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickensgal31/pseuds/Dickensgal31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit has amassed a database of unsolved cases. Individual abductions and murders of boys spanning multiple states over several years sends up a red flag. Is there a connection other than age? Are these truly random? Or the work of a serial killer?</p><p>Supervising Agent Dean Winchester, Forensic Psychologist and Criminologist for the FBI's Adolescent Victims Unit (AVU) leads the team that solves the most baffling child-based cases. When a host of missing boys are discovered, Dean leads the team in solving their murders. Victims found with odd items and at varying levels of decomp have the team reeling, but Dean’s made his reputation untangling the obscure. A new victim found with the same unusual items, sets the clock ticking.</p><p>Can Dean’s team find the murderer before they strike again? Dean’s dedication and ability to solve some of the worst cases, carries a heavy personal price, too often landing him at the bottom of a bottle. As more victims are discovered, Sam Wesson, his partner, and his Chief, Rufus Turner, worry about the effect of the case on Dean. Can he stay out of the whiskey-soaked hole that quells the horror of the cases he faces and solves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opening Notes & Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: The only actual city names used are Alexandria, Virginia, Washington, DC and Omaha, Nebraska, Garland, Texas, St. Louis, Missouri and Cherokee County, Georgia. All other town or city names are fictitious; however, the referenced cities and towns nearby are real. Some real sounding towns and cities have been deliberately camouflaged.
> 
> All dates of religious observances including the Equinox are real as is the Calculation for Easter, known as the Paschal Computus. Any referenced date of the full moon is accurate. All Biblical references and references to religious iconography are factual.
> 
> I am not in anyway associated with the US Federal Bureau of Investigation. All knowledge of procedures and methods is based on research.

  

 

_**SPN Reverse Bang Challenge 2014** _

   
**Art Title:** DAYS LIKE THESE LEAD TO NIGHTS LIKE THIS  
**Prompt Number:** E3009  
**Artist:** Apieceofcake  
**Art Link:** [LJ](http://apieceofcake.livejournal.com/427088.html)  
Apieceofcake's lovely prompt banner deserves it's own kudos. I was really excited to  
write a story to this wonderful artwork. Please pop over to her LJ page and let her know!

 

This was my first Big Bang of any sort. I had great fun writing and working on it. All the spreadsheets, maps, calendars and charts were worth it! Of course, my housemate thought I’d gone around the bend at one point when the dining room table was covered with a map of the US on which I was continually moving stickies! But she’d seen me do this on other stories and quickly recovered and offered to help.

It was great fun to particpate and be in the company of so many wonderful artists and writers. Thank you to all the wonderful Reversebang Mods! You all did a great job. I'm looking forward to reading and seeing how other art inspired my fellow writers to paint with our words. Please take a few moments to read the acknowledgements at the end of this story I had truly terrific alpha and beta readers. Full disclaimer along with product acknowledgements is at the end.

That’s it. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed exploring these people, this case and writing it. I’d love to hear what you thought. Thank you for reading, Lisa

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**_January 2009… California_ **

The rains of Central California had been pounding the area for the last four days with unrelenting glee. It had turned the usually picturesque landscape into a muddy drenched mess. There’s an old joke about the four seasons of California, not that they were autumn, spring, summer or winter, but were fire, rain, drought and earthquake. Funny how an old joke can really be closer to the truth than anything else.

The sodden earth fell away revealing bones nestled in their earthly bed. The pate of a skull shone brightly in the growing light of dawn. A sliver of silver glinted from the neck.

The Bible says that the rains will wash away sin. Everyone knows that rain will bring about the fruit of a field. It allows those expansive grasses of the world’s too numerous golf courses to become glowing swathes of greenery. It’s the rain that fills reservoirs that provide most of the Earth’s potable water supply. It was rain that cured the lepers.

There’s a lot to be said about the good rain does. The same could be said, equally, of its destructive qualities. On the low end there are the traffic accidents, on the high end, floods. Forty days and forty nights, if you believe the Bible some old guy, Noah, builds an ark to save humanity and whatever animals God had created. But closer to home were the floods that caused the debacle in New Orleans and Missouri, Mumbai, China and Columbia leaving thousands without homes, wiping away entire towns and killing millions.

So, yeah, rain. It’s good and it’s bad.

And in this case it’s the rain that exposes another body and cleanses its resting place of the sin that placed it there. One could say that.

Actually, it just reveals another grave of another victim of a faceless, still nameless killer that eludes capture. Again.

 


	2. Chapter One

 

  

**_September 24, 2010… Alexandria, Virginia_ **

  
Dean cracked an eye open. His flat phone skittered across the nightstand, its shrill ring drilling a hole into his sleep hazed brain. Blanket swathed arms reached for the offending instrument finally stopping it from screaming at him.

“YEAH!” He winced as his own voice reverberated in his skull. “Whoever you are you better be bleedin’!”

“Winchester! Get your ass up!” The voice groused in his ear. It took a full three seconds before Dean jack-knifed to a sitting position.

“Rufus?”

“You’re on the clock. We’ve got a case.” Dean heard his boss, Unit Chief Rufus Turner, let out a sigh, “I hate to pull you off your weekend, but you gotta get yourself to the airstrip. Wheels up in an hour.”

“Yessir,” Dean nodded clapping his hand to his throbbing head, “I’m good. I’ll be there.”

A quick shower and shave, and he was out the door. Thirty minutes later he whipped into the offices of a special branch of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. It always made him chuckle a little that the FBI had special units inside other special units.

Dean grabbed a coffee from the ever-present machine. It was already his second cup of what he liked to call the elixir of life. Looking around noted that the entire team was assembling. His eyes looked for his tall shaggy haired partner and lover. It wasn’t his weekend off, so he’d been there when Rufus called.

“Hey,” Sam came up behind him, “looking for me?”

Dean smirked, “I don’t know, am I?”

Sam shook his head with a playful snort, “Here’s the file I told you about.”

“When?” Rufus looked over at the two, “when did you tell ‘im?”

Sam Wesson took his seat at the long table, “When he was driving in.” Dean took the seat next to him and looked over at Rufus, “Why are we getting called into this?” He looked at the file, “It’s one body.”

“Actually, it’s not,” Rufus leaned back into the plush seat and looked around at the other members of the Adolescent Victims Unit’s team, Gabe Milton, Charlie Bradbury, Kevin Tran, and Garth Fitzgerald. In FBI parlance it was referred to as the AVU. Sam Wesson was the newest member but so far he’d worked out to be a near perfect partner for Winchester. He gave Kevin a nod.

Kevin nodded to Charlie who with a couple clicks on her keyboard brought up a slide with several bodies. Kevin looked over at Dean who was the most senior on the team, “In a new process initiated by the Behavioral Analysis Unit all homicides involving children are being cataloged in a specific database. Someone noticed a base pattern to these,” he pointed to the screen, “and so, now it’s in our laps.” He nodded toward the screen, “there’ve been several homicides over several states, bodies in varying degrees of deterioration,” he looked at his teammates, “but all seem to be in the same age range, eight to ten and all boys.”

Dean let out a small groan.

“Okay, people,” Rufus stood, “more on the plane. Let’s get the lead out!”

The team scrambled to collect their belongings and made for the door.

In the air, Rufus took the seat across from Dean who was buried in one of the files Kevin and Charlie had handed to each agent. He cleared his throat to get the man’s attention.

Dean held up a finger as he finished reading. “Yeah.”

Rufus looked out the window for a moment, “I think you should know that Benny’s going to be meeting us.”

Dean nodded with a frown, “I figured.”

“You and he are a great team,” Rufus sighed, “always were.”

“Mmm,” Dean leafed back through the folder. “This body,” he looked up at his chief, “the one in Omaha? That was the tipping point to bring us in?”

His chief nodded, “Yeah.” His brow furrowed in thought, “Why?”

Dean shrugged, “Just asking.” He looked out the window at the clouds for a moment, “I was just wondering why now? What isn’t the BAU telling us? Why wait for the count to be twelve, four wasn’t enough? Five?”

Rufus looked closely at his lead agent. He knew how hard these cases hit Dean. These cases hit all of them hard. Harder when it was children. But they seem to hit Dean even harder sometimes. And he was worried that Dean was sliding down that slippery slope again. He remembered the first time he had to pull Dean out of a bottle.

_When Bobby Singer sent his protégé who was almost a son to him his way he wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d heard about the kid when he was coming up and he had problems. But he trusted Bobby. And the kid was an expert in religious doctrines and icons. Top of his class in undergrad and grad school. Good pedigree, Doctorate in Forensic Psych and Crim. And he knew Dean lost his younger brother when he was eleven. Bobby said Dean really wanted to work the kid cases, as he called them._

_When Bobby called tonight he had no idea that the loss of his kid brother was still a raw spot for Dean. Or that he would react so badly when their case fell apart. But the kid was good. Really good and he didn’t want to lose him. And especially not at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon._

_He gave the bartender the ‘hi’ sign as he strode the length of the bar. Dean was there, right where Bobby said he would be. This was one of Dean’s favorite watering holes. They knew him here and he felt safe._

_“Dean.” Rufus took the stool next to him and moved the glass out of his reach. There were four empty ones sitting in front of him. Bobby said he usually kept count._

_The twenty-eight year old turned to him with eyes struggling to focus, “Sir?”_

_“I know losing this guy is killing you. It kills all of us.” He called the bartender over. “Coffee?” The man nodded and walked toward the back._

_“You’re good at this, Dean,” Rufus continued. “Now, I’m not going to blow sunshine up your ass everytime we hit a rough patch, but I’m also not going to let you destroy yourself. Or punish yourself. We have a team. We win and lose together.”_

_“Sir, I can’t …”_

_“No,” Rufus stopped him. “WE need you on this team.”_

“You gonna be okay?”

Dean nodded, “I’ll be fine. I just wanta get this sonuvabitch. I want to get them all.” Rufus heard that note of desperation in Dean’s voice that made him one of the best. It was also a key to what made him suffer in this job, too. He looked over Dean’s head to the seats behind him and across the aisle. He caught Sam’s eye.

Rufus wasn’t surprised to see the minute shake of Sam’s head. He’d only been partnered with Dean for two years, but the kid knew his older partner, and knew him well.

The two and half hour trip from Virginia to Omaha sped by as the team immersed themselves in the few facts of the case that they had on board. Charlie was furiously compiling as much data from the original crime scene files as she could. This was the first scene they’d be able to investigate first hand. The other files would, more or less, have to be treated as cold cases.

Disembarking from the plane, Sam fell into step beside Dean. He looked over at the tenseness around Dean’s mouth, the hard glint in his eye and knew that his partner was already geared up to do battle. Sam grinned to himself thinking about how much Dean reminded him of the superheroes he worshipped as a kid. The kind that took a beating and still kept getting back up to fight. That was Dean.

“This is going to be bad,” Sam said quietly as they slid into the one of the waiting SUVs.

“Captain Obvious, I presume,” Dean snarked as he buckled into his seatbelt.

Sam shook his head and buckled in as well, “Ooh, snarky much? You didn’t get enough coffee yet, huh?”

Dean slid him a don’t-mess-with-me glance.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam leaned over toward his partner on the job and in life, “I want you to be okay. This has all the earmarks of being really nasty.”

Dean reared back to look at his partner, “And when, Sam, is murder not nasty?”

“You know what I mean!” Sam allowed himself a huff of indignation.

Dean let out a small sigh as he looked past Sam and out the window. After a moment he locked his gaze on Sam’s. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be fine.”

“Fine?”

“Dry, okay,” Dean retorted hotly and tried not to be pissed, “I won’t drink.”

“Benny’s coming, too,” Sam reminded him.

Dean shrugged. As if he needed reminding that the partner that left him after six years on the job together was now going to be working a case with him again.

“Dean?”

“I know! Sam,” Dean grit his teeth keeping the surge of anger at bay, “I know about Benny coming! Rufus told me. And just because my ex-partner is coming doesn’t mean I’m going to drink myself into sad oblivion!”

“Mmmookay.” Sam shifted to look at Dean, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam!” Dean mashed his hands through his hair, but took a deep breath. “I’m a big boy, Sam. And you’re not my mommy and not my keeper. I won’t drink too much. Now,” he forced himself to relax against the window sill, “tell me what you know, so far.”

Sam let out a sigh of exasperation and with a small head shake started to go through the meager information that they had on the murders so far. Unfortunately, Sam’s profile was mostly non-existent. “We should have more in about an hour when Charlie finishes culling all the info she can get her hands on.”

It was only fifteen minutes later when the three AVU vehicles stopped outside the massive stone façade of the City of Omaha Police Department. Their arrival was expected and, hopefully, welcomed. Most local law enforcement resented their presence since it was seen as losing control over a crime committed in the home territory. But, in reality, the AVU team was there to help.

The OPD Community Liaison Officer was usually the person who met them, but this time it was the Chief of Detectives, Logan Ginty, waiting for them. Dean eyed up the lean weathered face of the man under a nice looking Stetson. He looked more like a seasoned rancher than he did a detective, but all looks could be deceiving. He knew that better than most.

AVU Chief Turner made quick introductions as his team was lead into a conference room set aside for their use. It was a relief to have the Medical Examiner waiting for them. Charlie didn’t miss a beat in getting up and running again. Gabriel, Communication Liaison was already riding point with the rest of the police department and getting geared up for any media needs. Rufus brought Dean over to meet with the ME and the detective that was leading the case, Daniel Tappscot.

“When can we see the site,” Dean asked losing no time in the getting-to-know-you niceties.

Tappscot looked mildly taken aback but quickly recovered, “As soon as you’re ready, sir.”

“Dean,” the older agent looked carefully at the blond-haired detective, “just Dean. You new? You’re kind of young to be a detective.”

Tappscot smirked, “Not as young as you think, damn, baby face,” he snickered at himself, “thirty, if that makes you feel any better.”

Dean nodded at the detective and his eyes actually had a glint of mirth in them, “Good to know.” He took the paper Charlie handed him. “And, yeah,” he looked up at Tappscot again, “it makes me feel better.” He followed the younger detective’s gaze as Benny Lafitte and his new partner, Gary Roddam, strode into the room.

“Let’s get started,” Rufus rapped on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Charlie,” he nodded to the red-head, “it’s your show.”

“I’m not sure if we might be wasting our time,” she clicked a few keys and twelve photos lit up the screen, “or if we’ve got the entire picture.”

The entire team leaned toward the screen as each photo took its place. The photos were all prepubescent boys. The entire team was silent as the faces of the innocent stared down at them.

“Other than that they’re all white,” Roddam broke the silence, “I’m not seeing a connection.”

Sam watched his partner studying the photos. He wasn’t as experienced as Dean and had more than a little to learn. His partner was a great teacher. He looked over and saw Benny watching Dean with the same intensity. He gave the man a small smile. This wasn’t the first time they’d worked together, but it was the first time since he and Dean embarked on a personal relationship.

“Charlie,” Dean asked without peeling his eyes from the screen, “the three black and white photos, you have a description? Their eyes blue?”

Dean didn’t see the Omaha Chief lean into his chief. “Your guy’s a bit intense there isn’t he?”

Chief Turner nodded as he kept his eyes on his Senior Agent, “He’s the best we got. No one’s beat his closure rate.”

“Bit driven, huh?” The Omaha Chief shifted and locked his eyes on Winchester as well, “What’s he seeing?”

Turner shrugged, “Damned if I know. But whatever it is you can bet there’s a reason.” He looked over at his colleague, “Dean doesn’t do anything frivolous on cases.” His eyes rested on Dean again, “He’s all business.”

Sam looked closer at the photos Dean was questioning and saw that the eyes were light colored.

“Yeah,” Charlie confirmed.

Dean’s eyes narrowed and Sam tried to see what he was seeing.

“All the eyes are light,” Dean said thoughtfully, “even the dark headed ones.” He turned back to Charlie, “Dates?” With a few more clicks of her keyboard she uploaded the dates each boy was found.

“I’m loading the crime scene photos, now,” Kevin added, “let me know when you’re ready for them.”

Dean shook his head, “No, Charlie.” He looked back at the woman, for the first time taking his eyes from the photos, “I need the TOD.”

“I’ve got those,” Kevin piped up from behind him. “Give me a sec.” After a couple clicks the Estimated Time of Death was loaded under each photo.

Dean’s eyes darted among the dates as did Sam’s, Benny’s, and the rest of the team’s.

“This is interesting,” Kevin loaded another batch of photos to a second screen to the right of the main one. “This was found with seven of the bodies.”

A picture of a small silver rectangle was emblazoned on the screen to the left. It had a cross on it.

Dean rose from his chair and going to the screen peered closely at the photo. Sam joined him on his right and Benny on his left.

“What’re ya seein’, cher?”

“Not sure,” Dean answered as he studied. He turned back to Kevin, “Is this the only photo?” Kevin and Charlie nodded in tandem. “Wait,” Charlie interrupted their nod, “there are seven of them, one from each of the victims.” She turned to her partner, “Put’em up.”

Seven photos of the silver tab came up side-by-side. They were carbon copies of each other.

Dean let out a huff, “No one photo’d the back.”

“What do you think is there,” Sam asked. “How do you know it’s not just blank?”

“I don’t,” Dean answered as he lowered himself into the chair behind him. His eyes never left the screens.

Garth who’d been quiet finally spoke up, “Hey, Char, which one of the boys had the silver tab?”

Dean shot his young teammate a smile as Charlie did as Garth asked. The photos were rearranged to show the ones with and without the silver tab. The entire team studied the pictures in silence. Charlie and Kevin busily keyed in more and more information, delving into more and more crime scene information.

After a few moments, Kevin broke the studied silence, “Take a look at this, guys.” Four more photos went up on the screen. Four of the intact bodies were shown wearing some kind of white garment, remnants of a garment clung to the remains of three others.

“And this is very strange,” Charlie added as she keyed up five more pictures. “What do you think it means?”

Dean looked at the display with increasing interest. His eyes darted amongst the varied photos. Sam and Benny were right by his side as they studied the pictorial essay before them.

“What kind of bug is that?” He moved closer to the picture, “It looks like a bee.”

“It is,” Dean sighed. “I wonder if it’s what I think it is, though,” his voice trailed off as he thought and studied.

“This body,” Rufus addressed Ginty, “when can we see it?”

Chief Ginty stood from his seat, “We can take you out to the scene now.” The coroner, Eric Hopstead, stood as well, “The boy is on the table downstairs.”

Dean looked at the fifty something doctor, “You have a Time of Death yet, Doc?”

“When I came up here, it wasn’t conclusive. The labs I ordered should be complete by now.” He ticked his head, “Follow me?”

“Sure thing,” Dean turned to follow him and Sam fell into step beside him. “What’re you thinking,” Sam whispered as they followed the ME.

“I’m thinking what’s with the bee. I’m thinking why the hell someone didn’t take a picture of the back of that silver thing,” Dean retorted as he kept up with the doctor. “And I’m thinking is it real silver? How real point nine nine nine real or jewelry real?”

Sam furrowed his brow as they got into the elevator that led to the morgue, “Why does that matter.”

Dean frowned, “It matters.”

_Dean walked into the Forensic Anthropologists office without his usual swagger. They were after a killer that buried his vics alive and listened and waited while they died. He would do anything to get this guy, but he felt like a bit of a rube coming into the Smithsonian with a leaf._

_“Hey,” he stopped one of the techs, “I’m here to see Mara Winbeck.”_

_The guy grinned, “Oh, she’s in a mood today.” He pointed to the upper level glass offices, “Up there, top of the stairs. Knock first, that’s her lab.”_

_Getting to the door, he knocked gently. She was bent over a lighted table and he didn’t want to startle her._

_“Come.” She didn’t look up._

_He went to the end of the long table and leaned over it without touching anything, “I’m Dean Winchester. I called you about an hour ago.”_

_“Yes,” she looked up. Her eyes were deep brown behind rectangle glasses, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, “let me see it.”_

_He handed over the small plastic evidence bag, “I’m sure it’s not important, but it looked different from the other stuff at the scene. It was on the kid’s jacket.”_

_She frowned slightly as she looked at it and then held it to the light, “I’ll have to do some tests.” Where’s the body? Whose jurisdiction?” She looked at him sharply, “And don’t ever think a piece of something that might be evidence is unimportant. It’s all important.”_

_And that little leaf led them to the home base of the unsub. That little leaf helped solve their case. So, everything is important._

Sam followed Dean as he trailed the doc through the stainless doors that were the entry to morgues the world over. He listened to the story of the leaf that helped the AVU solve one of their cases. “So, you see, Sam, that’s when I learned that every little thing can be important.”

“I can see that.”

This coroner’s operating theater was the same as so many others. In a way the familiarity was comforting.

Except for the small slight body covered by the operating room green sheet preserving what’s left of the boy’s modesty. Sam saw his partner tense as he approached the boy. He’d learned the hard way not to call it ‘the body’ and he was sure the ME was about to learn that same lesson.

“This is Jacob Milner, age ten. His parents are on their way.” Dr. Hopstead gently pulled back the sheet but only to the boy’s waist. “There’s been very little deterioration,” he looked up at the two agents, “apparently he was found quickly, lucky for him and for us.”

“Cause, Doc,” Dean’s eyes roved over the almost unmarred skin of the boy. “There doesn’t seem to be any outward signs of the COD.”

.  
.  
.


	3. Chapter Two

 

 

**_September 24, 2010… Downtown Omaha, DoubleTree Hotel_ **

  
Sam waited for a while before going back to the room he was sharing with Dean. After viewing the remains of ten-year-old Jacob Milner, he knew that it would hit Dean pretty hard. His partner had waved off dinner with the team which surprised no one. Maybe it surprised the members of the OPD, but not the AVU team. They were used to Dean going into recluse mode when he was getting into a case. Hell, he was there through most of his cases.

Sam was trying to break him of that working ethic. It wasn’t healthy and usually for Dean that meant refuge in a whiskey bottle. As he made his way to their hotel, he had a sneaking suspicion that he might find Dean if not at the bottle, then definitely nursing a glass of the fiery liquid.

They’d both been surprised by the ME’s work up on Jacob Milner. His body hadn’t shown a hint of abuse. There wasn’t a single bruise or ligature mark. His mouth was empty and intact. The boy wasn’t raped or seemingly abused in any sexual way at all. Fact was, if you didn’t know better and if the ME’s customary ‘Y’ incision wasn’t there emblazoned against pale little boy skin you would have thought Jacob was sleeping.

It was a bit surprising to find the presence of feathers in the boy’s airways. And after seeing no marks on the boy, it left only one method of murder and that puzzled them all. The tox screen indicated a high dose of barbiturates, which meant that Jacob was more than likely unconscious before his death.

Sam eased into their room. His eyes immediately landed on the small table by the window. Standing with his back against the door he studied his partner and lover for a moment. His eyes glanced at the photos of the boys taped to the window. Off to the side was the picture of Jacob Milner and the crime scene photos they’d gotten this afternoon. His eyes quickly returned to the other twelve pictures all labeled, now, with the name of the victim.

“How long you gonna stand there, Sam?” Dean hadn’t even turned around, but it wasn’t his keen investigative know-how that told him Sam had come into the room. It was simple logic. The door opened. And Sam was the only one with a keycard that wouldn’t feel the need to announce himself.

Sam let out a deep breath. There was no bottle of anything on the table that was littered with printouts, and there was no glass in Dean’s hand. This was a relief.

“You need to let this go, just for now,” Sam said as he walked toward Dean who’d yet to turn around. “What do you hope to see?”

Dean shrugged. “Not sure. Something. Anything.” He finally turned to look at Sam, “How’s the team?”

Sam slunk down into the easy chair off to the side of the table, “Pre-occupied. We all are. This case. There’s just something off,” he looked up at the pictures, “everyone feels it, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Dean took the chair at the table.

“So,” Sam leaned forward and took off his jacket, “what else did you find, Obi-wan?” Sam looked up at one of the pics on the wall. The flipside of the silver tag with the cross had a pair of wings etched into the back. As soon as the actual item was showed to Dean, he immediately flipped it over and grinned. Not because there was something there to grin about, but it was the very fact that no one else seemed to have bothered to look, or at any rate, document.

Dean snorted. But grabbed a thin stack of photos, “You know, it’s eerie the way Jacob looked.” Dean looked up at the pictures again and then down at the ones in his hand, “Tell me what you see,” he laid them out like he was dealing cards.

“These,” Sam looked up from the photos, “are the ones from the other crime scenes where the body’s had the least deterioration.”

Dean nodded.

Sam leaned toward the pictures, “They all look like they’re sleeping.”

Dean grinned, “Yep. All in a white sheathe, like a tunic, which the killer had to put on them. And look at the bodies, Sam. Untouched, clean. And cyanide isn’t that hard to get.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah,” his voice trailed off as he looked at the crime scene photos and the faces of the boys looking down at them from their flat plane on the window.

“Oh, and I asked Doc to run a test on the shift,” Dean rifled through a stack of papers for the one he wanted, “the fibers contained salt.”

Sam’s brows rose in surprise, “It was soaked in salted water?”

“Had to be. Doc said it was throughout the garment.”

“Any of the other ME’s check the other shifts?”

Dean shook his head, “Not according to what we’ve got, but it’s definitely something to find out.” He stood and started to take the document photos off the wall, “This kid, Jacob? Never felt a thing. The barbiturates would have knocked him out. The cyanide would have killed him almost immediately. He’s got, let’s say, for now a similar silver tag on him. And the white shift.” He pulled down two smaller pics and studied them.

“You found the bee at the site,” Sam said as Dean threw the two pictures on the table. “And Doc had that pressed rose catalogued with the items from the body.” He looked up at his partner, “I think I get the rose. The killer sent the kid off with a flower. It’s a nice touch.”

Dean shook his head, “No. Not a nice touch. Something else.”

“What?”

Dean looked up at his partner, “I have an idea, but I want to see what we find on the other victims. I want to see these other sites.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “we’re wheels up at 06:00. Rufus told me to tell you.” He stood and walked around to Dean. Leaning over he dropped a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, “Let’s get some sleep, hmm?”

Dean leaned back against Sam and let out a long breath. “Yeah,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose and pinched his eyes, “I’m tired.”

“C’mon,” Sam ticked his head toward the bed, “we need sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be tough and you, we, need to be clear-headed.”

 

**:::: :::::: ::::**

 

At 06:10 the next morning the AVU team was already in flight. Charlie handed Dean a tablet with her email already on the screen. “It’s the report from the entomologist.”

_Entomological Report on Specimen tagged : Case #12-74259, Milner, J._  
_Prepared for: Omaha Medical Examiner; Eric Hopstead, MD and_  
_Dean Winchester, Supervisory Agent, FBI, Adolescent Victims Unit_  
_Investigator: Ky Pattelle, PhD – Entomology and BioChemistry_

_RESULTS  
Kingdom: Animalia, Phylum: Arthropoda, Class: Insecta, Order: Hymenoptera, Family: Apidae, _

_Genus: Apis, Species: A. mellifera, Binomial name: Apis mellifera_

_The specimen is commonly referred to as a Honey Bee and can be found in any garden and particularly  
commercial honey producing concerns or commercial flora and fruit farms and orchards. _

Dean shook his head and let out a soft snort. “All this to tell us what we already knew? It’s a frikkin’ honeybee just like the ones buzzing around any flower bed!” He let out an annoyed grunt, “Isn’t that just ducky!”

Benny leaned over toward his old partner, “Yes, but now we know for sure, right? And that’s good, cher. It’s one more thing we know that we didn’t before.”

“Yeah,” Dean said calming down, “point taken.” He looked at his old partner for a full ten seconds. “How are you?” He looked over at Gary, “How’s it with him?” Dean nodded to Benny’s new partner.

“I’m good, cher,” Benny said quietly. “Gary’s a good guy. I like being closer to the family now that mom’s not doing too well.” He locked his eyes with Dean’s, “She’d love to see you. Asks after you all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, cher,” Benny smiled, “you should come down. See her. Pops would like to see you, too.” He looked over at Sam, “Bring him,” Benny nodded to where Sam was seated, “I think he and Robbie would get along real well.”

“That your new guy?” Dean kept his voice steady and calm. He and Benny had known each other a long time. There really wasn’t a reason they couldn’t remain friends. They should remain friends.

“He is.”

“I’m glad you found someone,” Dean said quietly.

“I’m glad you did, too.” Benny replied thoughtfully. “You know, cher, we are still friends. How could we not be?”

Dean nodded, “I know.”

“Hey, guys,” Sam said from behind Dean as he leaned over the back of the seat, “is there a détente?”

Benny broke out into a soft chuckle, “I guess there is.” He looked around the team. “Maybe it’s situations like this that remind us of what’s really important.”

Charlie’s tablet pinged with an incoming email. As Dean turned to hand it off, he saw it was from the Entomology Lab. “Charlie, the lab’s sending another email. I’m going to open it.”

“Yeah, go ‘head, it’s for you,” she answered without opening her eyes. She was catching a bit of down time before being glued to her computers for the rest of the day.

Swiping open the email tab Dean opened the second message from Dr. Pattelle.

 _Dr. Hopstead, Agent Winchester:_  
Not sure if it’s important, but the specimen you sent may be a queen. There’s a beekeepers  
mark below the wings, quite faded, but there if you’re looking.  
Cheers, Ky

Sam nodded, “I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Plus, no one can have too many friends, right?” Dean looked up at his partner with surprise. _Maybe he didn’t realize how much he’d brought up Benny. But the kid was aces to be so accepting._

Sam stepped over Dean and took the seat next to him, “We should be in Missouri in about fifteen minutes.” He glanced at the paper Dean held and his partner passed it over. Sam’s eyes skimmed the report. “A honey bee? A queen? Why the hell would there be a bee with the body? In the winter? In Nebraska?”

“T’is a mystery,” Dean said with a hint of levity.

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _DoubleTree Hotel_ is a wholly owned entity of Hilton Worldwide [Visit Their Site ](http://doubletree3.hilton.com/en/index.html)  
> 


	4. Chapter Three

 

 

The boy looked at the twisted purple sucker he’d been given with obvious delight. Happily unwrapping it, he stuck it without hesitation into his mouth. The sweet grape flavor made his mouth water even more as his tongue gently rolled the long slim lollipop.

“Thanks!” He grinned up at his benefactor and slurped in more of the sugary goodness flooding down his throat. “Grape’s the best! There’s not a lot of ‘em!” He sucked with the gusto of a child truly enjoying candy the way only a child can.

“Well, I gotta get goin’!” He jumped up and swayed just a bit. But helpful hands reached out to steady him. He let the hands help him sit back down on the cushiony folding chair. Leaning back he savored the sweet confection.

His eyes started to droop as his body molded to the chair. The lollipop fell from his slack mouth.

 

**_September 26, 2010… Texas, Garland Holiday Inn_ **

Dean rolled his neck on stiff shoulders as he took another sip of the fiery liquid that soothed his tattered nerves. The faces of the twelve boys flashed in his mind’s eye on an endless loop. The last resting places of six of them followed right behind. He downed the rest of the glass as he settled back into the plush easy chair and tried to shut off the images for the night.

The ‘gifts’ that had been left with each body irked him. They made little sense on the surface. And he knew there was a reason for them. No killer left ‘gifts’ because they had miscued Christmas. They were telling him something. But he wasn’t getting it. At least, not yet.

And something in his gut told him this wasn’t all. There were others. There would be more. More boys dead and as yet there were no other bodies. No other gifts. But his gut said there were more and he’d learned to trust his gut as if it was standing in front of him waving a flag.

He heard the hotel room door open and knew it was Sam without opening his eyes. Sam had this way of coming into a room when he wasn’t sure what he was going to find Dean doing. Dean could always tell. The air in the room took on a completely different feel.

“Hey, Sam.” Eyes still closed he knew Sam was shedding his double layer of outdoor clothing. For the California native any temperature lower than seventy degrees was cold and he hated it. And, for September, it was unseasonably cool and the rain had been on and off most of the day.

Dean finally opened his eyes as he felt Sam come toward him and stop at the desk. He looked up at his shaggy haired partner as his eyes locked on the bourbon bottle and the glass.

Sam looked over at Dean with a small smile, “Just one?”

“Just one.” Dean leaned back in the chair again, “I’ll get drunk when we get this bastard.”

“Uh, how about you don’t get drunk at all,” Sam leaned his hands on the arms of the easy chair and looked his partner squarely in the eye, “I’d like to have you around for,” he frowned, “I don’t know, thirty, forty, maybe fifty years.”

“Fifty?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, Sam,” Dean grinned, “I’m not sure I got fifty!”

“You do, but not if you crawl back into the bottle,” Sam pushed off the chair. “Come to bed. Stop thinking.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath, “I can’t, Sam.”

“You can,” Sam tugged his hand, “you’ll come at it fresh tomorrow. I know you’ve already got something brewing.” Sam tugged Dean out of the chair and gave him a gentle shove onto the bed. “Sleep now. Think more tomorrow.”

 

**_September 28, 2010… FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC_ **

For the past four days the team had been run ragged visiting the burial locations of the victims that had been identified. They’d roused people to work on Sunday, open labs and process tests. So far, everything they’d learned had all the earmarks of the work of a serial killer. What kind was still to be determined. There were enough common elements to link the murders of the boys, but nothing concrete.

Back on their home turf the AVU’s access to more information was speedier and timelier than when they were on the road. Gabriel so far had done a bang up job on keeping the local police departments from leaking any news to the media. He’d had similar success with the parents of the boys since all they really wanted to know was what had happened to their sons.

Dean looked up as Gabe came into the large conference room and took a seat. He and Gabe had been on the team since the beginning. They along with Charlie were the three original members. They’d been friends since going through the academy.

Charlie and Kevin were the best Tech Analysts around. Gabe was no slouch in the investigations area, but early in his career he’d shown a real knack for soothing the ruffled feathers of the media, keeping information under wraps until it needed to be let out and he was an angel with bereaved family members. And his openly friendly face and naturally sunny attitude played no small part in his success.

Gabe looked from Dean to the wall of projected photos. “What are you thinking?” He took a deep sip from the ever present cola that went with him everywhere.

Dean slumped against the back of the chair, “I’m thinking that this isn’t all there is.” He took a sip from his coffee, “I know there’s more. I’m just not sure where to look. Yet.”

“Hey,” Sam strode in followed by Charlie and Kevin. With the addition of Garth and Rufus, their team was complete. Sam slid into the chair next to Dean. “Benny’ll be here with Gary in a few, he’s checking in with his office.”

Dean nodded absently as he looked again at the crime scene photos. This morning they’d gotten all the TODs from the various ME’s and Charlie had already uploaded them to the corresponding photo. Looking at the innocent faces looking out at him Dean had to shake off the memory of another such face. He’d had to shake it off more than once in the past few days, but it was getting harder.

“Dean?” Rufus called over to him from the opposite end of the table.

“Yeah, Chief,” Dean answered absently. He was concentrating on the items they’d found on the newer crime scenes and waiting for the older ones to be sifted. If he had his way, he would’ve been at all the found sites. But, as Sam said, even for him it was impossible to be in two places at one time. He pulled out the pictures of the ‘gifts’ left with each victims.

_Pressed red rose, single layer in waxed paper_  
_Bee, confirmed as a Honey Bee, possibly queen, in cardboard matchbox, no distinguishing marks_  
_Salt soaked tunic on the victim_  
_Silver medallion with embossed cross, etched wings on the back over the letters QVD_

Dean looked at the array of items before him. His hands ghosted over them as he studied each one.

Rufus watched his lead investigator as he slowly looked from item to item. He knew the look of recognition that he saw on Dean’s face. Dean looked over at him and then back at the photos of the items. Sam had been watching Dean as well, as had Gabe who finally broke the charged silence that came over the room.

“Dean, dude!” Gabe tapped his cola can lightly on the table, “You look like someone just walked on your grave.”

Chief Turner looked at Gabe and had to give the guy credit for always finding a way to lighten things up. But his lead investigator did, indeed, look like he was a bit unnerved. “Talk to me, Dean,” Rufus’ command was gentle but there nonetheless.

“What do you see,” he looked from Rufus to Sam to Benny, who’d just come through the door. “Do you see anything these _things_ have in common?”

Sam heard the spark of revelation and knowing in Dean’s voice. “I don’t, but you do. So, spill.”

Dean turned to Charlie as he stood and handed her the five photos he was holding, “Put these up, wouldjya?” By the time he’d walked to the wall in front of the table Charlie had them up. Dean pointed to each one in succession. “A rose; a honey bee; salt soaked tunic; a silver medallion.”

“The medallion is obviously religious,” Sam said as he retook his seat taking a noisy sip of his fresh coffee.

“But the bee,” Gabe’s voice rose with his disbelief.

Dean nodded as his lips quirked at the corner in the start of a smile, “Good thing my thing is religious iconography, then, huh?” His brows bounced as Charlie snorted, “Just tell us what you’re thinking!”

“Okay,” Dean turned back to the photos. “These odd little gifts actually do have a connection.” He looked at his colleagues, “The rose, five petals, usually attributed to Mary, the Virgin Mary, honey, the same. White tunic, let’s go with white is the standard for purity, back to the flower,” he pointed to it, “white, purity, also a biblical symbol for Mary’s tears.” He looked back at his rapt audience, “Salt in the tunic, long held as a superstitious safeguard against demons, not true, but people believe it, and the medallion.” Dean let out a deep breath, “It’s pure silver which is supposed to repel demons. Demons can’t touch silver, but here’s where it gets really interesting.”

“Okay, it’s an anti-demon, cross with wings,” Gabe piped up, “it’s obvious that the killer has some religious bent. And what? He’s sending the kid to God?”

“No,” Dean shook his head, “to Michael.”

“What the hell, cher!” Benny leaned forward on the table, “you gotta explain that one!”

“Mmm,” Dean nodded, “okay, yes, the cross is obviously Christian.” He pointed to the photo of the backside of the medallion showing the wings, “The wings is where it gets interesting, and more so, here,” he pointed to under the wings, the etched letters Q-U-D, “Quis ut Deus. It means, ‘Who is like God’.”

Brows rose around the table.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Dean pounded the pavement of downtown Alexandria headed for his favorite watering hole, Harvelle's. It was small, out of the way, and everyone knew who you were and left you alone anyway. Plus, Ellen was a great bartender and owner. Listened when asked and knew when to just pour. But she never let him get into trouble.

Tonight he wanted to be left alone. Tonight he just wanted a drink with no one bitching at him. Tonight he just wanted to forget.

Swinging through the door he was met with the comforting sounds that every neighborhood bar could provide, the soft thud of heavy beer mugs hitting the counter, the softly sharp clink of ice cubes cooling the fiery liquid of alcohol in wide mouth tumblers. Music playing at just the right level to be the sonic noise needed to entertain or to soothe depending on your drinking habits. Harvelle’s had the one other thing too many local bars lacked nowadays. A pool table.

Dean stood in the doorway for a fast few seconds before he made a beeline for the massive mahogany topped bar worn smooth by years of care and patronage.

“Hey, Sugar!”

He smiled up at the older woman who’d become a friend and confidant when he was still in the academy. He slid onto the same stool he’d sat on for almost eight years. He was one of the few agents who’d been assigned to headquarters right out of training. But then he’d been recommended by one of his undergrad profs based on a paper he’d done at the tender age of twenty-two on religion and the serial killer. After earning his doctorate he was tapped for Quantico.

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean settled on the leather covered stool and dropped his leather jacket over the back. “Woodford, neat. How you been?”

She grabbed the slim wide bottle from the top shelf and poured two fingers for Dean, “It’s been a long time, Sugar. I’m good,” she handed him the heavy tumbler, “you’re looking a little ragged.” Ellen watched as Dean downed the glass in one go. She frowned slightly as he gently tapped for a refill. Usually when Dean asked for the bourbon he was there just to relax. That single swallow of the first drink was not the action of a man wanting to relax.

Dean shrugged as he rolled the second glass on the bar for a few seconds. He looked up at Ellen, “How’s Jo?”

The woman’s face broke out into a grin, “She’s good. You know she graduates this year from dental school.”

“I remember,” Dean downed the last of his second glass, “she still going to pursue periodontics?” He held his glass up for a third refill.

“She is. She’s excited.” Ellen pursed her lips as she looked from Dean to the empty glass. “You eat tonight?” Dean’s brows rose as he saw the don’t-lie-to-me look on Ellen’s face.

“I ate.”

“What did you eat? Power bar? Candy bar? What?”

“Przles,” Dean mumbled.

Ellen cocked her head toward him, “You ate what? Don’t mumble, Dean Winchester, won’t do you any good. And if you’re mumbling that tells me you didn’t eat anything worth mentioning.” She dropped her barcloth on the table. “I’m ordering you a burger from Joe’s.” Slipping out her cell phone she dialed the restaurant across the street, but when she ordered the ‘Dean Burger’, he knew she was probably talking to Old Joe himself.

“Now, can I have another drink?” Dean looked at her pleadingly as she closed her phone.

“You can have beer,” Ellen cracked open a bottle of _Blind Pig_ and set it on a napkin in front of Dean, “there ya go.”

Dean took a long pull on the brew and let it roll around his mouth for a moment before swallowing. It was one of his favorites, nice hopsy citrusy taste with just enough bitterness in the finish to call it beer. Not like some of those fruity concoctions being called beer today. God, he hated those.

Ellen leaned over toward him, with her ever-present cup of tea, “So,” she looked up at him, “you gonna tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist? Personal?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he took another pull on the beer.

“So, a case then.” Ellen kept her eyes on him as she sipped her tea.

“You know,” Dean let out a dry chuckle, “watching you sip tea in this fine bar is sacrilegious, you know that, right?”

Ellen chuckled, “It’s my bar.”

“Well, there is that,” Dean grinned as he took another swig from the Blind Pig, “maybe I need to do that. Open a bar.”

Ellen shook her head, “You’d drink the profits. So, not a great idea. Plus,” she looked at him with kind eyes, “we need you putting all those sick bastards in jail and keeping the world safe.” She chuckled, “Maybe I need to get you a cape.”

The door opened letting in a waft of rain fresh air followed by the delicious aroma of grilled beef. Dean smiled as Joe, the bearer of the best burgers in town took the seat alongside of him. The dark-headed slightly rotund man with a bit more than stubble and less than a beard clapped Dean on the shoulder, “So, my friend, it’s been a long time since you come to see me!” His Greek accent was still strong even after decades in the US.

He chatted with Joe and Ellen, ate his burger and drank two more beers. It felt good to get away from the case for a short time. He could feel it pushing at the back of his brain. It kept intruding into his thoughts but he pushed it back for the hour he spent just relaxing at the bar. A fourth beer later he left the bar and walked through the gently crisp autumn night to his apartment. The day’s rain had finally stopped leaving behind and unseasonably cool night filled with the earthy scents of wet earth and leaves.

He’d never touched the pool table, but talked baseball and the merit of the best burgers with Joe and Ellen, argued the best beers to keep on draft and other unimportant innocuous things. Serial killers and dead children never came up. But they were never far from his thoughts.

The early nip in the air was bracing and tempered the warmth of the alcohol surging through his veins. He wanted to be in the warm arms of Sam. Sam wouldn’t like that he’d been drinking. He worried. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Not really. It was a way to take the edge off. To relax. But Sam worried anyway. And that pissed him off. He didn’t want to be pissed at Sam. Not tonight. Tonight he was pissed at nameless killers of little boys and he wanted to hang on to that.

Killers who lured boys with sweets and toys. And this bitch killed on Sundays. Calls herself a Christian probably convinces herself she’s doing God’s work or some such bullshit. His feet started moving more quickly keeping time with his swelling anger. Probably takes advantage of Sunday school kids. Thinks she’s providing soldiers for Michael’s army? So she can beat the devil, never thinking she’s the devil herself! _Fucking bitch, I’d like to choke her myself!_

_The stunned faces of his colleagues didn’t really surprise him. It was the same reaction every time there was a series of murders steeped in some religious reasoning. Religion was too important to too many people and there was just something about using religion that made the crime seem that much worse._

_“Okay,” Dean continued. “This Quis ut Deus, it’s found on the shield of the Archangel Michael.” Charlie, that link I gave you.”_

_“One sec,” the red head clicked away on her keyboard. A picture of Micahel holding the shield with the words on it._

_“This is a classic depiction of the Angel Michael slaying the devil. Who is alternately,” Charlie put up another photo, “a man and a dragon.”_

_“So,” Garth piped up from the chair next to where Dean is standing, “You’re saying that our killer is making an army for Michael?”_

_“Exactly!” Dean looked at Garth with appreciation. “Chief,” he looked over at Rufus, “can you call the ME in Omaha? I’m betting if he tests the skin, under the nails since he probably washed the body, he’ll find that the boy was given a milk bath.”_

_Rufus gave him a nod but Kevin interrupted, “I can email him now. That way you can keep going.”_

_“Cool,” Dean nodded, “thanks. Okay,” he looked at his colleagues, and then back to the pictures of the boys, “the TOD’s all land on a Sunday. This is a Christian woman, well educated, attractive, nice appearance, age between maybe as young as thirty but probably closer to mid-fifties could be as old as sixty but that would be pushing it unless she has an accomplice. She needs to be strong enough to lift a body, dead weight, average height and weight of boys this age range.”_

_“How strong,” Gabe asked as he absently poured coffee._

_It was Benny’s partner, Gary, who answered, “An eight year old boy, an average height 50 inches, weight about 56 pounds. At nine, 50 to 55 inches in height; weight, between 56 and 70 pounds, this is the wildcard category. Ten year olds, on average, are 55 inches tall and weigh 70 to 75 pounds.”_

_Dean nodded his thanks to the man. He’d learned from his file that the man had trained as a pediatric physical and occupational therapist. He was a valuable member to have on the team._

_“One more thing,” the ordinarily quiet Gary added, “if the unsub’s female and I agree with you, Dean, and if she was a mother or used to being around children she’d know how to pick them up. How to shift the weight.”_

_“Good point,” Benny clapped his partner on the shoulder and then turned to his ex-partner, “I’d say she’s probably closer to mid-fifties.”_

_Dean nodded, “Yeah. And she’s Catholic, but that doesn’t mean she’s practicing. She’s using Christian themes, icons, superstitions to mark the boys. This is her version of fighting the devil,” his voice trailed off as he looked at the pictures of the victims again._

_“What’s not sitting right,” Sam asked as he observed his partner. He knew him well and his tone and body posture said something was off._

_“Not sure,” Dean’s voice trailed off again as he thought. “There’s something we’re, I’m, missing.”_

_“You said that you think there are more boys,” Sam reminded._

_“Yeaaah,” Dean nodded, “not sure how to find them, though.”_

_“Dean,” Gabe interrupted his musings, “why a woman?”_

_Dean’s brows rose, “Oh,” he frowned as he shook his head, “first, poison is traditionally a woman’s weapon of choice. Neat, clean, easy to use. Second, boys are wary of men with candy. Hopstead in Omaha and Mercer in Garland and Pierrelli in St. Louis said they found sticky residue of sugar in the boy’s mouths. Kids are more likely to take candy from a woman. The older woman, the more attractive the easier it is for them to get the kids to take it._

He was jarred from his thought as water splashed against his legs from a car driving too close to the curb threw up the murky water from the puddles that always formed on this side of the street. It sent a small shiver through Dean as the water seeped through his trousers. He was still several blocks away from his apartment. The moon was low in the autumn sky and overall it was a cooler night than usual for September.

He stopped for a moment and looked up at the moon. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the gleaming orb that could be enjoyed by lovers but be malicious too. He shook off the feelings that crept up on him on moon-bright nights. And while this wasn’t a true moon-bright night it was too close for comfort.

“Hey, Buddy!”

Dean heard a male voice call out and looked across the street as a younger kid ran toward an older one. As the younger one, maybe, eight, wrapped his arms around the older, Dean knew they were probably brothers. But just hearing, ‘Hey, Buddy,’ sent shivers down his spine. He shook it off as he always did, and quickened his pace toward home.

_“Hey, Dean?”_

_“Yeah, Sammy?_

_“It looks like the moon is following us,” he pointed to the night sky._

_Dean looked up and then down at his younger brother. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, “Yeah, Sammy, it does.”_

By the time Dean made it to their apartment he was practically running. He leaned into the elevator corner and caught his breath as it rose to the fifth floor of the turn of the century building. There were only a few apartments on each floor, they were nicely laid out and everyone had a balcony. It was in an older section of town but the buildings had so much more character. Swinging open the door he made a beeline for the small bar off the living room and had poured two-fingers of bourbon by the time Sam stood up from the sofa.

Sam had known that when they left the office earlier that Dean would need time alone. Dean wasn’t hard to read if you knew how to look. And tonight after presenting the profile on the killer of the boys, Garth had dubbed her the Virgin Mary killer, was one of those nights. Sam knew he’d probably go to whatever personal watering hole he went to on nights like these. And he knew he could track Dean down if he wanted to, but giving him space when he needed was part of being a good partner, professionally and personally.

But now, as he watched the muscles in his partner’s back bunching with tension, it told him there was more. He smelled the beer when he came in, and he hoped that beer was all Dean had been drinking. When he hit the hard stuff like he was now, it was never a good sign. Dean tried to drown is problems in booze instead of, as he put it, giving in to chick-flick moments and talking.

“What if I’m wrong, Sam,” Dean finally grunted out without turning to look at him.

“Wrong about what?”

“The killer.” Dean finally turned around, “What if I’m wrong. What if it’s not ‘Pretty Woman’ or ‘Gramma’ and it’s the ‘Buddy’?” He took another sip from the tumbler and looked over the rim at Sam as if daring him to say something about the drink in his hand.

Sam nodded, “Okay, so, let’s look at both profiles.” He grabbed a pad, “So, young guy, what are you thinking,” he looked up at Dean, “like twenty to mid-twenty? Fairly well educated? Christian, or knowledgeable about Christianity…”

“Definitely Christian,” Dean interrupted, “probably a preacher’s kid or parents deeply religious, probably attended a faith-based school…”

“Okay,” Sam scribbled quickly, “probably good in school, over achiever?”

Dean frowned, “No, maybe. But he’s good at science. Not sociable but knows how to be…”

Sam jotted down more notes as they continued through the ‘Buddy’ profile. When they finished, Sam tore off the page and put it with his keys for tomorrow. Dean had put his glass down and didn’t pour another which was a relief.

“What happened tonight,” Sam stood at his side by the window. It was a little too cool and wet to be on the balcony, but he cracked the door to let air into the too warm apartment. “Usually you come back relaxed. Sometimes drunk, but tonight you looked panicked.”

Dean shrugged slightly but Sam heard his breath hitch.

“You weren’t panicked about getting the profile wrong. I don’t think you did, so,” he gently turned his partner to look at him, “what is it?”

“Sammy.”

 _Fuck!_ Sam sucked in a deep breath as silently as he could. _Nothing set Dean off like memories of his younger brother’s abduction. Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

“Something triggered a memory,” Dean’s voice was quiet, “and it—it made me think, reminded me that we need to look at every angle on this case.”

“As we do on all of them,” Sam voice was deliberately light, “we’ll get whoever it is. You’re the best there is, Dean. Don’t doubt yourself. Not on this. Please.”

“What if we don’t? What if she or he,” Dean stopped, “oh, fuck, Sam! This bitch, this bastard is going to kill again and I don’t know where to look!”

“We’ll figure it out!”

“When?”

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Product Acknowledgement:**  
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>  but friends have said this is an excellent pale ale. [Visit Their Site ](http://russianriverbrewing.com/brews/blind-pig-ipa/)
> 
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> 
> _Holiday Inn_ is a wholly owned entity of InterContinental Hotels Group [Visit Their Site ](http://www.ihg.com/holidayinn/hotels/us/en/reservation)  
> 


	5. Chapter Four

 

 

**_September 29, 2010… Home of Dean Winchester & Sam Wesson, Alexandria, Virginia_ **

The need to wake started to lift Sam to consciousness. He felt the pressure of needing to relieve himself and finally gave into the call of nature. Rolling up and swinging his legs off the bed he ambled to the bathroom without turning on the lights. After taking care of himself he shuffled back to bed and for the first time noticed that Dean was no longer there.

He was awake instantly. He felt the sheets on Dean’s side. _Cold_.

Their bedroom was fairly compact as far as Master Bedrooms went, but their apartment had three rooms. One was reserved for guest, usually visiting agents. And one was an office they shared. Dean taught at least one class each semester at either Georgetown, American or UVA. He had an invitation to teach at Howard and Catholic for next year.

Pulling on the bulky blue sweater that Dean claimed had seen better days he padded out of the room, but never got as far as the office. Dean had covered the floor to ceiling windows of the living room with the pictures of the boys, his laptop was open on the coffee table and he was sitting on the couch hunched over scribbling on something and making circles.

Sam peered over without getting too close. _Calendars?_ He cleared his throat. Usually, Dean knows when he’s there. Sam watched the total absorption of his partner at his task.

 _Hell, an elephant could probably waltz through the door in a tutu and he wouldn’t notice!_ He quickly surveyed the room. The bourbon was on the counter, there was less in it than there was before. He spied the empty glass holding down a sheaf of papers next to the laptop.

“Dean? What the hell, man, it’s,” he looked at the clock on the oven, “four in the morning!”

“Yeah,” Dean kept circling and looking at a chart on the laptop, “Couldn’t sleep. I think I’ve figured it out, Sam.”

“What?” Sam plopped down on the chair to the side of the sofa since there were papers on either side of Dean. “What did you figure out?”

“I think I’ve got the dates.” Dean muttered as he made another notation. “The bodies we have the most recent ones, three from 2010, Milner in Omaha, and the other from this year in Chester,” he looked over at Sam and after his nod, continued, “then there’s the three from 2009, three from 08 and one from 07 and then the one their running more tests on.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “got that. We had that before.” He could see Dean vibrating with nervous energy and he tried to keep his voice calm. “What’s different?”

Dean smirked, “Well, all the deaths that have been pinpointed so far have set the TOD on a Sunday, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “religious nut kills on a Sunday. We’ve seen that before.”

“Yes, we have,” Dean agreed, “but those killing always had a set pattern. Once a month, once every seven weeks… these have no pattern.”

“But they’re not random?” Sam looked over all the papers strewn about, “You wouldn’t have been doing this much research for random.”

“Nope,” Dean grinned slightly, “I wouldn’t. This one,” his tone was almost admiring, “she’s a tricky bitch. Look at this,” he cleared the cushions on his left so Sam could move over, “wait,” Dean turned to Sam, “d’you know how Easter is calculated?”

Sam shrugged, “No idea, except it’s always on a different date, it’s frikkin’ annoying!”

Dean chuckled, “Yeah, it is. Okay, so, way back when, 325 AD, the First Council of Nicaea is convened by Rome’s Emperor, Constantine the First. He brings together Christian bishops from all over making it the very first ecumenical council.”

Sam nods, “I thought it was to make up new laws for the church.”

“It was,” Dean agreed, “But,” he smirked, “it was also the first effort to reach a consensus by bringing representatives of known Christendom together. And one of the big questions was Easter.” Sam’s brows rose in question. “I don’t know why, no one really does, but until this meeting Easter followed the Jewish calendar.” He looked over at Sam who nodded.

“Because Easter really is Passover, right?”

“Exactly,” Dean agreed. “But this council had an issue with the rising of the full moon and didn’t want Easter to come before it. So,” he pointed to a chart he’d constructed, “they fixed a date of the Spring Equinox for March 21. The date for Easter would fall on the Sunday following the full moon that rose after the Spring Equinox which was known as the Paschal moon.”

“Why was Easter such an issue?” Sam asked confused, “I mean other than it’s the time that marks the crucifixion.”

Dean shook his head, “It’s more. For all of Christianity it’s the start of the Ecclesiastical year.” He grinned at Sam’s confusion, “There’s much more to the whole moon thing but for our purposes, you just need to understand HOW Easter is calculated. It’s the Sunday following the full moon that rises AFTER March 21.”

“And it doesn’t matter,” Sam questioned, “that every calendar lists the Spring or Vernal Equinox as March 19th and 20th?”

“For Christians and with regard to Easter,” Dean shook his head, “no, it doesn’t matter. But here’s the important part.” He pulled another page that was loaded with scribbles toward him. “The dates of the killings, they’re really bugging me.”

“Why these Sundays,” Sam asked as he looked at the page with all the days that represented TOD circled in red, “that’s what was buggin’ you?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled. “Exactly.”

“So, what did you find,” Sam took the calendar, “this is a mess, but I’m sure it means something to you.” He handed it back, “Show me.”

Dean let out a deep breath, “First, this is rudimentary at best, because I don’t have enough information which tells me there are definitely more boys we’ve not found. But here goes.” He shifted to face Sam, “It’s important that you remember the calculation for Easter, because our killer uses that to figure out when to kill her next victim.”

Sam looked at him in confusion.

“Look at the dates here,” Dean pointed to the calendar of 2010. “The kill dates that we now know are, May 30, August 1, September 26. You with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Look here,” Dean drew another heavily scrawled page toward him, “these dates from the bodies attributed to 2009 dates,” he looked over at Sam and at his partner’s nod continued. “The ME reports peg these bodies from June 14, November 8 and January 31, yeah?”

“Got it,” Sam nodded as he peered at the page, “but what does it,” he shook his head, “okay, I don’t got it.”

Dean nodded, “Stay with me,” he rifled through the spread out pages, “this,” he held it up to Sam, “2007.”

Sam nodded, “Four of the bodies are linked to that year.”

“Yes,” Dean smiled in mild triumph, “look,” he ran his finger over the page, “the ME’s fixed the TOD here, on May 6, and here,” he pointed to another date, “August 5,” Dean looked over as Sam nodded and continued, “there are two others November 25 and January 27. You see anything, yet?”

Sam let out a huff of dismay, “Just a lot of random dates. Okay, they’re all Sundays but that could mean everything and nothing.”

Dean nodded as he gnawed as his lip. He looked back at the pages he just showed Sam. He snatched a couple others toward him. He looked from page to page.

Sam looked down at the vast array of papers seemingly strewn about and realized that it wasn’t the mess he originally thought it was. He looked over at the page in Dean’s hand and saw how meticulously the dates were written. “I’m going to put up coffee.” He rose stretching, “I’m guessing sleep is out for both of us.” He shook his head with a small smile when Dean didn’t answer and padded into the kitchen area. He could still see his partner puzzling through all the pages of dates and TODs.

His brows rose as Dean started to cut apart some of his notes and then stack the cut one on top of the other. He was nearly convinced that Dean’s mind was on a bender when he held the stack up to the light.

“Sonovabitch,” Dean breathed out the expletive as he looked at the scrawl in his notebook. And then added to it. Sam was sure this was probably about the hundredth time he’d done it in the past hours. But something in the way Dean said the mild curse also said that he’d just seen something he hadn’t before.

“What?” Sam leaned toward his partner, “What is it?”

“Okay, watch,” Dean keyed up a graph on his laptop, “all these dates mean nothing except that they’re a Sunday.”

“Right.”

“But look backwards,” Dean’s voice was charged with excitement, “the full moon is on the 27th, the only other day of observance that I think fits the profile is Mary Magdalene Day, on May 25. The Sunday after the full moon is May 30.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief.

“Mind you, I can’t really be sure. This is one date, and I’ve got others, but I’d need to see this date reoccur or this target date reoccur.” He held up the sheaves of pages to the light and pointed at one of the columns, as he turned to look back at his partner standing behind him, “D’you see?”

“Shit,” Sam whispered. He took the pages and held them closer to the light so he could see the other pages behind them more clearly. “But you, we, need more.”

 

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
“These are the dates,” Dean tacked up his pages of calendars riddled with marked off dates, “and based on the TODs we’ve gotten from the MEs then these correspond with the Holy Days of Easter, Ascension Day, Autumn Equinox, Samhain also knows as All Souls Day, Saturnalia, Epiphany and Candlemas also known as the Purification of Virgin Mary and the Presentation of Jesus.”

He pulled up a blank white board, “Look. Our unsub is using the calculation for Easter, there’s enough dates for this one, the Autumn Equinox which comes up three times and each time it’s the same pattern, the Sunday after the full moon that follows the date of the Equinox. And again, here,” Dean jotted down ‘Easter’, “each time, the TOD corresponds to the Sunday after the full moon following Easter.” He wrote out the other examples.

Dean nodded, “And if I’m right,” he spread more pages out on the table, “there are a lot more victims.”

The AVU team looked at Dean in stunned silence as he wrapped up his run down on the timeline he’d assigned to the Angel Boy killer, a moniker coined by Garth at the outset of Dean’s presentation.

It fit.

“So,” Rufus finally broke the dazed silence, “let me understand. This is what you think is the timing, but we need more information to be sure.”

“Right.” Dean gave him a short nod, “And we need to find out what was different in these areas. The victims that have been identified are from all over the country. That means this person travels. Who is she or he? They could travel for business. But I don’t think so.”

He turned to Charlie, “Can you put up that piece I gave you, looks like a big box cut into fours?”

“Sure thing.” In seconds Charlie had the handwritten diagram that Dean made scanned in and projected for the team.

“Look,” Dean pointed to the four boxes, “these are all the states where victims were found.”

“You separated them by season? Gabe leaned forward to get a better look, “Oh!”

Dean nodded, “Yeah. Oh!”

“The states with the coldest climates are hit in the summer and those with the warmest in the winter.” Gabe looked up to where Dean was standing, “That’s an interesting twist. Also means this is a commercial endeavor.”

“Exactly,” Dean grinned.

“So, we need to figure out what was in these towns,” Sam piped up from the far end of the table.

“I’m betting a traveling evangelical group.” Benny looked over at Dean who gave him a small shrug.

“Could be a circus,” Kevin added, “or some other entertainment group like a national touring company.”

“That’s true,” Benny’s partner, Gary, spoke up. The man was very quiet and it was surprising that he joined the discussion. “There are tons of singers and bands that tour all over the country. Magic acts, professional coaches. Sports teams.”

“Yeah,” Garth added, “and some of them, most, have really big entourages. Roadies to set up, some of those might fall into your “Buddy” profile.”

“Good point,” Dean nodded as he listened to his team power through the possible organizations that could shelter their unsub.

“And there are plenty of women on those tours, too,” Charlie added. Since they’d lost Meg and Jessica to the Colorado office, they were very light on the female voice. Charlie had to carry that burden on her own.

“Yeah, but, Charlie,” Sam looked down the table toward her, “would that include the grandmotherly type?”

She shrugged, “Women of the grandmotherly age are agents, managers, lawyers, and,” she shrugged slightly again, “we can’t assume when you attach the label of grandmotherly that we’re talking orthopedics and hair in a bun wearing the housecoat. That is so not women today.”

“No, it’s not,” Dean agreed, “but if our unsub is the grandmotherly type she’d have to the kind of woman that kids would inherently trust. And we still haven’t nailed down either profile, ‘Pretty Woman’ or ‘Grandma’. In the meantime,” he looked at Charlie and Kevin, “let’s get a bead on all the traffic into and out of these areas, see if they have any connections to each other.”

The two Tech Analysts left to get started on searching electronically. “Gabe, Garth,” Dean turned to them, “can you search any news items that maybe broke in these areas at the time we’ve put the murders. See if anything strikes you as off?”

“Sure thing,” Gabe grabbed his cola, and took off for his office with Garth on his heels.

Benny, Gary, Dean and Sam remained. They were still looking at the timeline that Dean had laid out.

“According to this,” Benny broke the silence that had descended, “if it’s right, and knowing you, it is. Then there’s already a new victim.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, three days ago.”

“And they’ll be another one ooonn,” he studied the chart Dean created, “November twenty-eighth?”

Dean nodded, “You got it.”

“Where do we look,” Sam asked, as he looked at the locations they knew.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

**:::: :::::: ::::**

 

Shining faces raptly watched the tent going up. Eyes grew big with the fascinating sight as yards and yards of fabric formed a structure held aloft by a few poles and ropes.

The air was saturated with the sweet scents of sugary treats that were a constant lure for all children. They were heady. They brought delight.

And that always brought out a smile.

 

**_September 29, 2010… FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC_ **

Charlie kept her eyes on Dean. She could see the tension in his back as he continued to study the screens projected in front of him. Her brows rose and she nodded in greeting as Benny came in. The War Room was quiet and empty but for the occasional soft click of Dean’s remote screen changer.

Benny sidled up to Charlie’s spot at the back of the room. Three of her computer screens mimicked the ones Dean studied. “How long’s he been standing there?” Dean’s short cropped hair bore the signs of having been ravaged by a hand running through it in frustration many times. His shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and if you looked closely enough you’d see various colored ink stains still on his fingers.

Charlie shrugged, “Most of the afternoon. Made a couple calls. Looked up some stuff on his own.”

Benny looked around the silence-wrapped room. It was a quiet, heavy with frustration and the confusion that comes before most discoveries. In this room, it was Dean’s perplexity that hung in the air. He could nearly hear Dean thinking or trying to puzzle out the string of dates in front of him. He glanced up at the screen and saw an array of calendars laid out. “Where’s Sam?”

Charlie smirked, “Getting food. You know how Dean is, if someone doesn’t feed him, he won’t eat until he figures out what’s making him nuts.”

Benny nodded with well understood knowledge. He’d been with the man for years before they finally split and saved their friendship. He narrowed his eyes as he looked back at the calendars. They were marked with a set of symbols other than the circled dates Dean had shown them earlier. “When did the two new ones come in?”

“About an hour ago,” Dean said without turning. “I’m not seeing something, Benny. It’s here. I know it is, but I’m not seeing it.”

“What is it you don’t think you’re seeing,” Benny joined him in front of the screens as he leaned against the table. “It was damn clever of you to figure out the moon thing and the way our unsub is picking the kill date.”

Dean shook his head, “Thanks,” his voice trailed off lost in thought. He shook his head at the screens at his own thoughts, “Something’s off.”

“What,” Benny prodded, “talk it out.”

His former partner let out a long breath. His eyes skimmed over the calendars. He clicked on the remote button in his hand and another set of markings to the calendars came up along with a US Map.

If… IF… I’m right about these dates,” Dean started but his voice trailed off as he continued to immerse himself in the myriad of dates already laid out. “Then,” he continued finally, “the unsub is organized, methodical. And patient. Look at the detail of her ritual with the burials, the calling cards that are left.”

He looked down as Sam pushed a sandwich into his hand. He absently took a bite as Sam leaned against the table on the other side of him. Dean shot his current partner a grateful glance as the man pushed his rain dampened hair from his face. Charlie had to chuckle to herself as the three men looked at the screen in front of them as if the answer was going to write itself. But she’d seen them do this before.

“Hey,” Sam turned toward her, “what about the locations we’ve got? You find anything that matches yet?”

Charlie nodded, “Couple things.”

“And that’s the other thing,” Dean interrupted them, “these dates, these places, okay they’re all over the place. We already knew that, but there’s no organization at all.” He walked toward the projected calendars, “look at these. They’re a mess!”

“But,” Sam interrupted as he swallowed a bite of his sandwich, “all these dates coincide with the whole Sunday after the full moon thing. You know the Paschal moon stuff.”

Dean nodded, “They do. And I feel good about that, but there’s still something off. There are eight dates. That’s wrong. Doesn’t hold with the rest of the signature.” Sam wasn’t sure if Dean was talking himself through it or actually expecting a response.

“Okay,” Sam took a shot at the fact that he was included in Dean’s musings, “what’s off then?”

Taking a quick bite of his sandwich Dean grabbed some of his written notes. “Eight,” he said more to himself than in answer to Sam. “It shouldn’t be eight. Three maybe. Or Seven. It’s just…” he let out a sigh, “it’s doesn’t hold up with all her other signatures. It’s, I don’t know, sloppy.” He looked from his notes to the screen, “And there are too many, it’s just off.”

.

.

.

 

 


	6. Chapter Five

 

 

**_September 29, 2010… FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC_ **

Dean sat on the edge of the table as he scribbled in his ever-present notebook. The old-fashioned paper kind. The spiral bound, college ruled kind. He left the electronics to Charlie and Kevin. And Sam. He liked paper. Paper he could hold onto and cut up and move around.

He peered over his glasses hearing more activity around him. He took another bite of his second sandwich because Sam was Mother-Henning him. After swallowing he pivoted around to Charlie, “Those other dates I gave you?”

Charlie nodded, “I’m working on them. It’s going to take a bit of time, but I’m doing a search for all unsolved cases fitting the timelines.”

“You sure about this, Dean,” Rufus followed Garth into the room, “you don’t want to expand the search to other dates?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and rocked his head back over tired, tense shoulders. He could hear the grinding of tense muscles luckily no one else could. “We can, but we need to keep track of which victims fit our current profile. Plus,” he looked back at Charlie, “we’re going to be hit with every victim that fits the timeframe not just the ones that fit our profile.”

Rufus nodded, “True, but you know, we shouldn’t…”

“Leave any stone unturned,” the team finished for him.

He cracked probably the first smile that room had seen that day. Or in the few days preceding it.

“So far all of the victims we’re attributing to this unsub,” Charlie spoke from behind her console of computers, “have been found in a cemetery or on church grounds.” Rufus looked up for the first time at the calendars displayed on the screen. “That’ll make it easier for us to cull out other victims found elsewhere.” He pointed to the screen, “What’s this?”

“The other dates, the other possible kill dates,” Dean answered.

Rufus swept the toothpick that was present whenever he was working a case from one side of his mouth to the other. The tiny stick had replaced cigarettes for him years ago. The War Room boasted a steady supply of them in strategic places. It did the same with chocolate for Garth and Dean as well as Gummi Bears and Worms for Sam, Gabe and Charlie. Kevin was the non-snacker in the bunch and got ribbed for it mercilessly.

“Charlie,” Rufus turned back to the Tech, “where are we with that?”

“I’ve got matches coming up,” Charlie clicked away at the keyboard and pushed a screen toward Kevin who jumped in on the other side.

He shook his head and typed in another string of code and grimaced at what was coming up on his screen. He moved Dean’s display to alternate screens on the side of the room and put up what he and Charlie were getting on the new search parameters.

“Guys!” Kevin and Charlie called out together, “You’re not going to like this.” A string of possible victim’s names matching the dates that Dean gave came up. They also matched some of the dates and locations of the victims they’d already uncovered.

Garth and Benny’s partner, Gary, let out low whistles as the list populated. Dean slid from his perch on the table and dropped into his chair as he scribbled notes in his book.

“That’s not all,” Kevin added as he activated another screen, “based on the victim sites we know, take a look at who was there that matches our TOD dates.”

“That’s an impressive list,” Sam’s voice held a note of dismayed awe as he took a chair next to Dean. “It’s going to take forever to get through these.”

“Who are The Poison Darts,” Benny asked as he looked over the list.

“Indie rock band,” Gabriel said from the doorway. “Hey, sorry I’m late. Was talking to the papers.” At Rufus’ silent inquiry, he nodded, “They’re being good.” He looked at the screen, “Poison Darts, goth rock band out of some Godforsaken place in South Dakota. The other group up there, Galactic Genesis, Christian rock band out of, surprise, surprise, Alabama.”

Dean smirked, “How in the hell do you know this?”

Gabe shrugged with a good-natured smile as he slid into a chair, “The same way you, my friend, know such esoteric info on religion. Bands are a thing and the names just stick with me.”

“So, Galactic Genesis?”

“They’re not that bad,” Gabe frowned slightly as he looked back up at the screen, “but definitely not our unsub.” He glanced over at Dean, “First, they’re kids. Second, they travel small, and third,” he pointed to one of the side screens, “catch me up, that list,” he nodded to the one behind Dean, “are some of the locations?”

“Yeah.” Dean looked back at his colleague, “What about the third thing.”

“Oh, right,” Gabe put down his coffee, “they’d never play somewhere like Minnesota. Mostly they stay local, they’re still really new on the scene. So, they only match part of your timeline.”

“But they did,” Kevin piped up from behind his computer. “May 14 to 17 in 2007.”

Gabe shook his head with a frown, “Dig deeper. That’s graduation time, I’ll bet one of them’s an alum or has family or something. I don’t like them for this.”

“Based on what,” Charlie asked.

“My gut,” Gabe answered.

“I think the circus,” Benny swiveled toward the screen, “is a better bet.”

“I agree,” Sam said as he swallowed a fresh sip of his leftover drink from lunch, “the rock band is also too small. They’d all have to be in on it. Chances are they’re their own roadies so that means they’re traveling light. But this circus, Bright Thorn Big Top, great place for kids, lots of people. Kid could go missing easily.”

“Just as easily as from the Crown of Heaven Evangelical Ministries,” Dean added as he scribbled in his notes. “Charlie, Kev, can you narrow down the distance parameter.” He looked back at the two techs, “Make it five miles.”

In a few clicks, the two bands fell off the list, as did the three larger and more well-known rock bands. Still on the list were the traveling ministry and the larger circus.

“Can that be a coincidence?” Sam’s query went out to the table at large, but he’d just asked the question on everyone’s mind.

Rufus nodded, “It could. One could be following the other or steering them. I mean, why not, the circus comes to town, a big draw for everyone. Who doesn’t want to go to the circus?” He switched his toothpick around for a second, “The ministry follows, capitalizing on the hype the circus has already generated.”

The team nodded as their chief put forward his observations.

“Plus, gives our unsub more cover, right?”

“Okay, so then,” Sam chimes in, “we’re looking at the ministry which fits our profile.”

“The circus fits it, too,” Dean added as he looked up from his notes.

“Yeah, but, Dean, c’mon,” Sam cajoled, “the circus? Elephant riders, clowns, trapeze guys, lion tamers. These guys aren’t killers. And not really known as religious zealots!”

“Really?” Dean looked at his partner with his you’re-kidding-me-brows. “Most circuses’ core performers are gypsies and I’m not talking the traveling kind, although that fits too. I’m talking about Romani Gypsies, very religious, very Catholic, and very superstitious.”

“Well, shit,” Garth let out the small expletive. “That changes the way I’m gonna look at circuses for, well, forever.”

Dean gave their youngest member a wry smile, “I know, huh?” He looked around the table, “I’m not saying either or, but we’ll have to look closely at both.” He looked back at the dates he’d amassed and turned to Rufus, “We have to be careful in tracking the movements of both the ministry and the circus. It’s possible there’s a connection other than the one using the other as tack and drag.”

Rufus nodded as he examined the data they had so far. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. It’s late and I know we all want to keep going, but we also need to rest. Come at this fresh in the morning.”

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Sam glanced over at his partner and shook his head a bit as he realized that he’d been, virtually, talking to himself. He doubted if Dean had heard anything he said. He didn’t even flinch when one of the waiters or someone dropped a considerable number of dishes with a jarring crash on the thick tile floor of the Italian bistro they both liked.

He gently kicked his partner under the table. He kicked him again with a little more force.

“Hmm,” Dean’s eyes focused on Sam. They lost the hazy glaze that had clouded his usually clear green eyes. He pulled himself up straighter in the chair, “So, the Patriot’s game?”

Sam chuckled and smiled, “Yeah, well, I had that conversation with myself more than fifteen minutes ago. I was just kind of waiting to see if you’d join me anytime soon.”

Sam’s smile grew as his partner’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Sam. This case,” Dean let out a sigh, “I just,” he shuddered and dropped his fork that had yet to eat anything substantial of the Gnocci al Forno that was one of his favorite dishes.

“It’s hard to leave it, even for a little bit,” Sam nodded, “I get that. It is for me, too. But,” he took a sip of his beer, “you gotta admit that fresh eyes, a fresh head, you could do more. You need to get some sleep, man.”

Dean nodded as he threw a bit into his mouth, “I know. I will.”

“And eat.”

Dean forked another helping into his mouth, “Happy, Mom?”

“Very.”

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Sam could feel the tension radiating off his partner as they both tried to sleep. They were both strung tight over this case, but Sam hadn’t seen Dean this tense since the first case they’d worked together. Then he put it down to being with a new partner.

But this case was really tying the man in knots. He played possum and didn’t let Dean know that he was keeping him awake. Usually he could sleep through anything. It was a standing joke with the two of them that a tornado could sweep across Sam and he’d not flicker an eyelid.

Finally, Sam felt the weighted compression of the mattress and knew Dean had, at last, succumbed to the sleep he needed. Letting out a relieved sigh he turned and wrapped himself around his partner. He felt Dean’s body relax a bit more as he fell deeper into slumber. For the first time in days, Dean’s muscles were lax in his arms. Pulling the comforter more closely around them, Sam allowed himself to follow.

“Oh, sonovabitch!” Dean jack-knifed awake, breaking free of Sam’s arms and only realizing when he heard his partner groan. “Sam! Sorry!” He swung his legs from the bed.

“What the hell, man,” Sam’s sleepy moan held all the derision it could given the hour and rude awakening.

“I’ve been an idiot!” Dean pushed off the bed and padded to the bathroom.

Sam sat up, albeit reluctantly, hearing the shower run. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at the clock expecting to see that only a few minutes had passes since they both fell asleep. He was more than surprised to see the clock announcing that it was already ten after six. He padded into the bathroom and after taking care of his morning business, leaned against the double sink counter, “You mean about the Angel Boy Killer,” he grimaced as he used Garth’s name for their unsub.

“Yeah,” Dean called from the shower. Sam saw he was almost finished as his partner tipped his head back to get the shampoo out of his hair. Dean took some of the shortest showers. Sam liked to linger but he knew that would not be an option today.

A minute later Dean stepped out toweling off as Sam stripped off and stepped under the still streaming spray. “So, how were you an idiot?”

“It’ll be better, clearer, if I show you, but I’ve been looking at the timeline wrong,” he picked up his Braun shaver and ran it over his groomed stubble leaving just enough to be shy of a beard but mitigate his sometimes too boyish face. As he finished brushing his teeth, Sam was out of the shower and taking up his spot at the second sink.

“How, wrong,” Sam asked lathering up for a razor shave.

“I’ve got the year wrong,” Dean answered as he finished his morning routine, “remember yesterday the dates were bugging me? I said the calendar was off, messy?”

“Mmhmm,” Sam rinsed his razor and continued shaving as he listened.

“I can’t believe I was this dense,” Dean stepped into his boxers and then sat on the toilet to pull on his socks. “I was looking at the Gregorian year, you know the regular year, January to December.” He reached into the built in drawers where they kept underclothes and pulled out a fresh tee-shirt, “she’s, he’s, using the Ecclesiastical calendar. At least, I think so. Looks right in my head, have to see it on paper.”

Sam wiped his face down with a wash cloth and slapped on some aftershave as he looked at Dean in wonder. “You know, you might be right, since the unsub’s using the Easter calculation as a base. At least, as far as you’ve thought it out. And the dates seem to fit the profile we’ve got, as meager as it is.”

Dean nodded as he passed through into the walk-in closet, “I need to see it. There are a couple things that just don’t jive for me.”

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Charlie was her usual fresh-as-a-daisy self as she powered up her system as Dean and Sam came through into the War Room. Kevin slogged in behind them looking barely dressed.

“Dude,” Kev groused as he took his place in front of his computers, “do you not know about the eight hours a growing boy needs?”

“If you’re a boy, then I’m Methuselah,” Dean shot back as he opened up his laptop and notebook. “Charlie those calendars from yesterday…”

“Commmiiing up, now.”

The screens that had been resting silently and restfully blank came to life with an explosion of monthly and yearly calendars.

Dean studied them again for the umpteenth time. “And there it is!” He pointed to the March calendar. “Look!” He pointed to the same month in successive years, “It’s always empty. She’s, ah, fuck! The unsub…”

“Oh, hell, Winchester,” Kevin grumped, “just call her, it, what the fuck ever, the Angel Boy Killer. Genderless and accurate. Simple.”

Dean snorted at Kevin’s crankiness, “Okay, well, our Angel Boy Killer is using the Ecclesiastical calendar NOT the Gregorian!” He heard Charlie lightly gasp in surprise. “If you look at the calendar from Lent to Lent or Easter to Easter, the dates start to make better sense.” He glanced over at Charlie, “Can you do that? Arrange them from Lent to Lent?”

“On it!” Dean watched as Charlie and Kevin ripped apart the calendars electronically.

“Winchester,” Rufus growled as he ambled in, “please tell me there’s a reason I’m here at this un-Godly hour!”

“There is.” Dean didn’t stop in his explanation as the rest of the team straggled in, “remember yesterday I said the calendar was off.”

Heads nodded. Dean explained why. “And look, here, see,” he pointed to March, “there’s no activity.”

“There isn’t any in July either,” Garth pointed out after noisily sipping from his coffee cup.

“No,” Dean agreed, “I don't think that's the anomaly it appears to be. Not sure what it is yet, But, this,” he pointed to Easter, “is the start of her year as it is for all Christian churches.” The excitement in his voice was one of triumph and wonder that he’d found what he was missing.

“Wait,” Rufus’ voice boomed from the table behind Dean, “Christians use the same calendar as everyone else.”

“No,” Dean turned to his chief, “well, yes, Christian people do, but the churches don’t. Easter is the start of the Ecclesiastical year, and so, our unsub is, basically, using it as the first day of the year.”

Rufus nodded as he looked over Dean’s calendars.

“Hey, Kev,” Dean called over his shoulder, “can you mark off all the Ash Wednesdays?”

“No problem.” In a few clicks the five calendars, from 2006 through 2010 were marked with an ‘X’ over the date Dean requested.

“See.” Dean pointed to the gap between Ash Wednesday and Lent, “there’s no activity at all in any year during Lent.”

“I guess that’s what our unsub gives up,” Gabe chided.

“Oh, seriously,” Charlie groaned. “Poor taste, bub!”

“A little levity can be a good thing,” Gabe retorted as he examined the calendars and the time gap. “So,” he turned his attention to Dean, “what does this mean for us? Does this make more sense to you based on what was bugging you yesterday?”

Dean stepped back and leaned against the table. He scrutinized the display again. Suddenly, the team heard a low chuckle coming from their Supervising Agent.

“Dean?” Benny interrupted his former partners private comedy interlude.

“She’s clever. And fuck, she’s meticulous!” Dean chuckled dryly again as he looked from calendar to calendar.

“What?” Rufus interrupted this time, “Care to share with the class, Winchester?”

“It’s making more and more sense,” Dean explained as he perched on the table, “the dates were off to me yesterday. I knew the ones I had were correct, I’d checked and re-checked. But there were too many and then not enough.”

“You said last night that eight was too many,” Sam reminded, “that it should have been three or seven. You were really stuck on the seven, right?”

Dean nodded, “Exactly.” He looked around at his team, “Benny, you’re a Catholic. You’d know this. Why three or seven?”

Benny shrugged with a small smile, “Three, it’s a good Holy Number for the Trinity. Seven is a Biblical number.”

“Okay, hang on, Dean,” Garth chimed in, “educate the Baptist here. What’s with the seven? I get the three, Father, Son, Holy Spirt.”

Benny swept his arm toward Dean, “The floor, cher, is yours.”

Dean rocked his head from side-to-side on tense shoulders, “Okay, a bit of trivia. You know why seven is a lucky number?” Head shook and shoulders shrugged.

“Oh, wait!” Charlie giggled, “The seven virtues.”

Dean grinned, “Give the little lady a cigar!” The team chuckled and it WAS good to have a bit of levity when they’d all been working so hard on figuring out their newest unsub’s motives and moves, visiting morgues and interviewing victim’s families. “But,” Dean continued, “there’s more so much more. Let’s start with the seven days of creation. The seventh day being held separate for the Sabbath. And here is where seven starts to be the number of completion and of divine perfection. The number seven is all over the bible. For easy stuff there are the Seven Holy Gifts, Seven Venal Sins also known as the seven Deadly Sins.”

Nods of understanding surrounded him. “There’s so much more,” Dean continued pacing in front of the screen, “Exodus, animals must be seven days old before sacrificing. Second Kings, Naaman, the leper, is cleansed after bathing seven times in the River Jordan. Joshua is commanded to march around Jericho seven days and to make seven circuits on the seventh day while seven priests blow seven trumpets,” he looked at his team, “I’m sure we all know what happened there.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets but then withdrew them to use his fingers to tick off more examples, “In Genesis, seven pairs of each clean animal are on the ark. Exodus, there are seven stems on the tabernacle’s lampstand. Also in Exodus, Egypt is plagued for seven years counter-balanced with seven years of plenty. Isaiah, seven qualities of the Messiah, seven signs in John’s gospel, and seven things the Lord hates in Proverbs, seven parables and seven woes in Matthew also seven loaves of bread into fish,” Dean paused to chuckle, “there’s a discrepancy with that one, earlier in the text its five loaves and 2 fish, still a seven though.”

“And then,” he continued, “in John, Jesus is the seven-fold ‘I am’. Seven in multiples is just as important. It’s in Daniel, 490 years, 7 times 7 times 10. Jeremiah, Babylonian captivity would last seventy years, Leviticus, the Year of Jubilee begins after the passing of each 49th year. Again, in Matthew, Jesus tells Peter to forgive seventy times seven. In Revelations it’s very prevalent, and I’ll bet our unsub knows this chapter backwards and forwards, seven spirits before God’s throne, seven gold lampstands, seven stars in Christ’s right hand, seven seals of God’s Judgment, seven angels with seven trumpets…”

“Shit!” Garth and Gabe exploded interrupting Dean, “they do not teach this in Sunday school!”

“They do in some,” Dean muttered and brows rose in unasked question. “Suffice it to say, the number seven appears in the Bible more than seven hundred times.”

“So, then,” Sam enters the fray feeling a bit shell shocked at hearing Dean’s whispered confession and the sheer amount of information he’d just rattled off, “it’s safe to say, that our Angel Boy Killer is big on the number seven.”

“Yeah,” Dean shot him a grateful smile, “I think so.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the calendars soon to become seared into his memory for all time. “What about this,” he walked toward the screen, “what’s going on here? Why the shift from this February date, Candlemas, to this one in January.”

“Oh, hell, that’s easy,” Rufus piped up, “those years, there,” he pointed out 2006, 2007, and 2009, honoring Candlemas falls during Lent and our unsub’s not deviating from the plan that’s already been mapped out.” He turned toward his Supervisory Agent, “That right?”

Dean nodded, “On the nose, sir. On. The. Nose.”

“She plans,” Sam sighed, “and plans well.”

“And long term,” Gabe added.

“Yeah,” Dean finally sank back into his seat and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“She’s going to hit again,” Rufus mused looking at the screen, “on November 28 and December 26.”

Dean looked at his chief glumly and gave him a slow nod.

“Now we just need to know where,” Benny added as he took a folded message from his partner who’d been trouble-shooting on one of their cases at home.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Sam looked up from putting the remainder of their dinner in the storage containers. He kept an eye on his partner from the distance of the kitchen. Dean had been even quieter at dinner than he’d been in the last few days. Their silence broken by halting bits of conversation on nothing important.

He flinched as Dean poured another bourbon, neat, and took a healthy swig. This was his second, at least as far as Sam knew. Two beers with dinner followed by Woodford for dessert was not a good way to end the night. Wiping his hands off with a dish towel he was relieved when Dean finally quit staring out the window and plopped onto the sofa except that he’d downed his glass and had already poured a third.

Sam could see the tension in his partner. Hell, he could feel it. He could see Dean reviewing the material he and the team had amassed on their latest unsub. Padding over to the sofa, he took the glass from Dean’s hand, and downed it himself. Climbing up on the sofa, he sat on the back and threw his leg over Dean.

“Jeeze, Sam, what the hell…”

“Shh,” Sam settled himself, his legs on either side and started to massage his partner’s shoulders. “Man, you are so tense.”

“And you’re not?” Dean leaned into Sam’s strong hands. “God, that feels good.”

“I am tense, but,” Sam worked on the knots riddling his lover’s shoulders and neck, “you need to talk to me, man. I’ve seen you tense. I’ve seen you involved in other cases, some more than others. But this one? This is tying you up,” he pushed Dean a bit away from him to get better leverage on Dean’s delts, “talk to me.”

Dean let out a sigh, equal parts frustration and relaxation as Sam’s hands worked their magic on his bunched muscles. “We’ve got two months, Sam. Fifty-nine days to find this sonuvabitch. And you know we’re not going to get this bitch until more kids have died.” Sam could hear the defeat and exhaustion in his partner’s voice. “And that just kills me, Sam. That this bitch, is going to ruin more lives, end another child’s life. And we can’t do a damn thing about it.”

He felt Dean tense under his hands again. “And it just makes me nuts what people will do in the name of God. You drag your kids to church to teach them that God is good, be a good person, do unto others and all that bullshit.” Sam quietly kept kneading his partners tensing muscles. “And it’s all bullshit in the end, ‘cause that praying thing never worked for me, but this bitch… this bitch is preying on these boys luring them into being an Angel in God’s army, I’ll bet money on that one.” Dean snorted and tried to reach for the bourbon.

Sam pulled him back. “These people,” Dean’s voice was gruff and strained, “they promise these kids all kinds of shit if they’ll be good, good soldiers for God. What a fuckin’ joke! And they get it from everyone, their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles have told them all about being obedient and kind, trusting in the Lord, fuckin’ crock of shit!”

Sam leaned down and wrapped his arms around his partners trembling shoulders, “Dean, man. I’ve never heard you like this.” He laced his fingers with Dean’s and rested his chin on his lover’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d realized that Dean’s expertise in religious iconography was more than just academic knowledge.

“In the War Room,” Sam’s voice was soothing and quiet, “when you muttered, ‘some of them do’, you were talking about your Christian education, hmm?”

Dean leaned into his partner, “You have no idea.”

“Mmmm,” Sam nodded against Dean’s shoulder, “I don’t. But, maybe after that little tirade and today’s efficient quoting of Bible passages, your aversion to organized religion, I’m going to take a stab that you were raised in the church?”

Dean let out a dry huff, “The evangelical, traveling, Bible thumping, be good or God won’t love you, church, yeah.”

“Mmm,” Sam hummed as he squeezed his partner’s hands in his, “that’s too bad. Shouldn’t be that way. Should have been comforting not threatening…”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Dean let out a long breath, “and at the end of the day, it’s not that way for these boys.” Dean let his head hang back against Sam. “And it just kills me, Sam, that this Holy Rolling bitch is going to get more innocent boys. It just fuckin’ kills me. Worse, I need for her to kill again just to be sure that we’re after the right person. And I, we, can’t do a thing to stop it.”

“No, we can’t,” Sam kept up his ministrations, “and it kills me, too. Here’s the thing, though, we may lose more boys, but we’ll save more in the end. We’ll get her. Him. Whoever.” He leaned down to look at his partner as he massaged his neck, “Dean, your success rate is some of the best in law enforcement, you won’t fail.”

“I can’t Sam,” Dean leaned into his partner, “I can’t. No more Sammy’s, Sam. I can’t have any more Sammy’s.”

 _Shit, his brother? Fuck! I should’ve known!_ Sam kept his voice as even as possible, “What’s this got to do with Sammy?”

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Chapter Six

 

 

Drawing in a deep breath the fragrance of innocence, of warm milk and sweet honey was heady. Potent with the power it promised. The power of the untouched, the guileless justly suited to God’s work. Fulfillment cleansed the soul and centered the spirit in its rightness.

The innocent face of the new recruit looked even more so in his repose. Against the warmed porcelain of the tub his skin glowed with the purity of his soul and, now, his body. With every swipe of the sponge he was purified. The milk swirled away from him taking the layers of life’s impurities with it.

Finally, it was done. He was cleansed. Patting his smooth skin dry it was easy to lift such a light spirit. It was time to ready him for his future. The job was almost done.

It was time for him to receive what was rightfully his. It was time for him to receive protections and gifts of the Holy Mother and befitting God’s Soldier.

 

**_September 30, 2010… The AVU War Room_ **

The Angel Boy Killer, the team had taken to using the name Garth coined, was the focus of the team as it had been for the past few days. The list of victims had grown from twelve to fourteen to twenty-six and it wasn’t complete. There were still, at least, four more victims, based what they knew, that could yet be found. And there were older corpses that could fit, but the level of decomp was so extreme that the entire burial site had to be exhumed. Special forensic experts were contacted to work with the AVU.

Dean stood in front of his team, “The unsub killed again. Four days ago. September 26. While we were learning about these crimes, the unsub was killing.”

It was a horrific reminder that hung over the room with the weight of Damocles’ Sword. Dean looked from agent to agent. His eyes held and issued the challenge of success. With the laser focus he brought to every aspect of his work he surveyed and challenged them. “We are the best there is at this. And we’re the best hope these little boys have. But we need to get a step ahead of This Bitch.” The anxiety in the room was so thick it clawed at your skin. It was a member of the team.

It never drank the coffee or ate the candy or snacks. It never tidied the table or wiped down the white boards. But it was there. It was there when they left and greeted them when they returned every morning. It sat with them at the table. It haunted and taunted them. It kept them searching.

He nodded to Charlie, “On May 30, according to the calendar we think our unsub is using, there was another killing and again on August 1.” Dean sucked in a deep breath as he looked at the innocent smiling faces of the victims ringing the room. And these were the vic’s that had been ID’d.

“We need,” Dean broke the pall of silence that covered his agents, “to concentrate on finding the September 26 victim. According to the way I think the unsub may be traveling, the circus and the ministry were in,” he pulled out his notes, “the Autumn Quad, Tennessee to Mississippi.”

“Well, that’s hardly any territory at all,” Gabe snarked, “give us something hard, Dean-o!”

Dean peered over his glasses at the Communications Specialist, “We’re going to need you to keep things on the QT if we get any leads.”

“Not a problem.” Gabe popped a candy in his mouth, “What about interviewing the parents. I can be in the field for that.”

“And we’re going to need you.” Dean looked over at his chief, “You think you could get us a couple extra hands to help us out?”

“We’ll talk about it,” Rufus pushed his toothpick around, “but, yeah, I probably can.” He thought for another moment, “I can get us some help from the Sacramento office and the Nevada office as well.”

Dean nodded, “That would be good. We need man-power.”

“What about the other two vics,” Benny asked, “I hate to say it, but they’d be fresh kills too.”

“Exactly,” Dean agreed, “The August 1 victim fits the Summer Quad which would have put him and the unsub somewhere between Wisconsin and upstate New York. The May 30 vic, according to the travel schematic would have been taken somewhere in the Spring Quad, Idaho to Iowa.”

“That’s only 28 days from the Milner incident,” Garth mused as he looked at all the timetables and maps around the room, “how far could they have gone if the unsub murdered Milner in Nebraska?

Charlie let out a small groan.

“What? Garth looked at the tech with a worried expression, “What did I say?”

Dean grimaced and his body went taut but quickly tried to relax, “Milner wasn’t from Nebraska. He was from Idaho.”

“What the hell,” Benny’s chair balanced on its back legs fell to the floor, “why are we just finding this out now?”

Dean huffed a laugh under his breath, “No one asked. We were all so focused on profiling the unsub, we missed a key fact about our vic.” Dean shook his head at their folly, “My bad, totally, guys. But Jacob Milner still falls exactly into the right timeframe for that area of the country, Spring. Hopstead figured his TOD to May 2, but,” he surveyed his team, “this is the important part, particulates from the grave site didn’t match the Omaha location and both the circus and the ministry were only there for one night and,” Dean’s brows rose as he looked over his team, “not on May 2.”

Murmurs broke out across the table as everyone shook their heads in frustration.

“Wait, wait,” Dean quieted his group, “this is good. And it’s going to help us going forward.” He grabbed a marker from the ledge of the white board, “Look,” he turned to Charlie, “give me a US map on here.” Almost immediately there was a board-sized map projected behind him. Dean drew a hasty circle around Omaha with a JM in the middle, “here’s our victim site. He’s found and TOD is pegged at May 2,” he writes in the date. “Now, before this our unsub, based on what we know and based on some logic assumptions was here, the Pacific Northwest,” he put ‘X’s’ in Northern California and Oregon, Idaho, Montana, South Dakota, “and as far south as,” ‘X’s’ showed up in Arizona, New Mexico and into West Texas.

“So that’s why our Jacob Milner, is from Idaho and not Nebraska,” Gabe mused, “our unsub took him with?”

Dean nodded, “I think that’s right. We assumed that he was from Nebraska when the ME, Hopstead, said his parents were on their way. I didn’t ask from where.”

“Dean,” Charlie started to interrupt him, her voice laced with guilt, but her boss held up his hand to quiet her. She’d realized he didn’t know about Jacob Milner’s rightful home late last night when they were going over their case notes. She’d assumed he knew and he nearly lost it when he realized that the burial site wasn’t the victim’s home state or area.

“The lesson here is,” he glanced over his team, “ask even the questions that appear obvious.”

“This changes things,” Rufus commented from his seat at the other end of the table, “and it’s significant.”

Dean nodded, “It is. Means the places we’re finding our vics are not where they died.” He let out a long sigh and rubbed his nose under his glasses, “One other thing, Barbiner, one of our Forensic Pathologist, went out to Omaha to give Hopstead a hand on this case, confirmed milk solids under Jacob’s nails and foreskin, and myrrh in his mouth, which is another whole level of crazy.”

“Myrrh, like one of the three gifts given to Jesus when he was born, that myrrh,” Garth asked as he ripped open a sack of gummy worms, “the Biblical myrrh?”

“That’s the one,” Dean shot him a small grin, “It was commonly used in Biblical times to anoint the body in death.”

Dean saw Sam sit up straighter and rifled through his own notes.

“The Egyptians used it in embalming,” Dean continued, “you can buy it on the internet and in herb shops.”

“Dean?” Sam scribbled something on a notepad and counted silently, “the signature, our unsub’s, it’s seven isn’t it?”

Dean grinned, “You tell me.”

Sam’s brows rose as he bit his lip, “Okay. Silver medallion, one, the bee, two, flower, three, the salt soaked tunic, four and five, milk bath, six, and myrrh, seven?”

“I think that would do it,” Benny agreed with Sam the team nodded.

Dean shrugged and nodded, “I think that’s what she intended.” He let out a deep sigh as he looked over his team again, “Look, let’s not get stuck in the mistake. We need to concentrate on what we know. Where we think we should look. We need to be sure we’re as right as we can be, so anything that’s off, share it. The circus and the ministry seem to have gone quiet for right now.” He gave Charlie a nod.

“Okay,” she put her tablet to the side, “Dean asked me to track Bright Thorn Circus and Crown of Heaven. They’re not traveling right now. The ministry is in their home base, Corcastle, Kentucky. And Bright Thorn is in Belhall, Tennessee, about an hour and twenty minutes away.” Dean glanced at the printout Charlie gave him as she continued, “Seems they needed repairs, couldn’t get anyone to say to what, but usually they’re on the road without hitting their home base until July.”

“So that’s why there’s no activity for our unsub in July?” Garth posed the question as he ambled to the coffee machine that never got a break.

Dean answered with a nod, “That would be one explanation. It’s the one I think we should work with for now.” Nodding heads agreed.

“So, we do everything we can to find our unsub’s most recent victims, contact all the LEO’s in your assigned area. But,” Dean tapped the table with nervous energy, “we also need to interview the parents of all the other vics. We need to see if there are any links to the actual unsub not just our theoretical one.”

Kevin stood up from behind his consoles, “I’m running an algorithm now. It’s pulling from the lists we already have plus there’s a second one pulling from all open cases.” Kevin in serious mode was not to be trifled with under any circumstances. “You should have something in about an hour. I’ll post them as they hit.”

“Dean,” Benny interrupted, “who else, other than the parents do you want to interview?”

Dean rolled tense shoulders before he answered, “Not sure. Not sure there’s anyone else to interview. Parents, siblings, anyone who was with our vic that day. Anyone else? Let the interview inform you on that point. Follow up on whatever you think is pertinent.”

A collective sigh was released by the entire team as they mentally geared up to do battle with their unknown subject, the Angel Boy Killer.

Rufus broke the silence that enveloped the War Room after a few moments, “Finding his unsub is almost like looking for a needle in a haystack,” the collective groan was a welcome sound after such a tense time, “I know,” he grinned, “so cliché.”

“But you do love to torture us with them,” Gabe chided.

“Yeah, yeah,” the chief took the teasing good naturedly, “pay attention, Milton. I’m fulfilling one of your dreams and putting you in the field.” Gabe beamed. A smile stretched over his pliable face as he sat up taller in his seat.

“Dean said it earlier,” Rufus rose from his seat, “but it bears repeating. We are the best there is at this. And I know this case is already taking its toll. It’s going to get worse.” He looked over his entire team, “Take care of yourselves out there. These boys need you.” He gave the group a nod, “Now let’s move. Dean and Sam, are going to cover the states where the August 1 could have originated, Wisconsin to Upstate New York. Garth,” he looked at the younger man, “you’re going to go with them.” Sam turned to his young colleague and could see the man nearly vibrating with excitement or nerves. He wasn’t sure which, but either was good.

Rufus turned to Benny and Gary, “You’re going after the most recent vic on your home turf, so you’ll be covering the south and also Texas and Oklahoma. Gabe will be coming with you.” He looked over at Gabe and rolled his toothpick from side-to-side, “You may have to do some trouble-shooting with the papers down there.”

“Noted,” Gabe nodded as he scooped up packets of his favorite gummy candies along with his tablet.

“Charlie and I are going to head to the Plains states and the May 30 victim,” Rufus continued, “Kevin will work Tech, here.”

Kevin handed each team a printout of the US Map with all the locations marked. Along with that was the list of victims and the schedule for the circus and the ministry and Dean’s chart that broke up the country by Season. Benny and Gary gathered up their notes as did Garth.

“You guys, see Janey in travel, she’s got your flights for you,” Rufus commanded as the team got ready to leave. “Wheels up is in ninety.”

Dean turned back to Kevin, “Just send the info by email, yeah?”

Kevin nodded, “You got it.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door jamb. The remaining team members turned at the intrusion. “Supervising Agent Dean Winchester?” The girl was young, blond, lithe and nervous. She was wearing a lab coat that had the shield-shaped patch of the Smithsonian Research group on it.

“That’s me,” Dean gave her the ‘hi’ sign, “and you are?”

She smiled nervously, “Phoebe Kaplan. I’m a metallurgist at the Smithsonian. You sent me a medallion to examine.” She saw all of them poised to leave. “I’m glad I caught you.”

Dean waved her in, “What did you find?”

“You really are in a hurry for this.” She pulled a small envelope out of her pocket along with the small plastic evidence bag containing the medallion.

“We’re chasing a serial killer,” Rufus barked.

The young woman gave him a stiff nod and turned back to Dean, “It is pure silver as you suspected. But,” she smoothed the plastic over the small silver tab, “under a fairly high powered microscope you’d see that this is not just a cross…”

“It’s a sword,” Dean finished for her.

“Yes!” She didn’t hide her surprise. “How did you know?” She handed him a photograph of the medallion blown up ten times its size.

“It’s what we pay him for,” Rufus answered for Dean. “Plus, he’s an expert on religious things.”

“Oh! Well, then,” Phoebe nodded, “then you’ll want to know that the wings on the back,” she handed him another photo, “are carved in by hand, not stamped. They are etched in by the same person that etched in the letters.”

She pulled a photo of the etched Q-U-D, “I marked the pressure points. And there’s one more thing,” Phoebe pulled another photo from her case, “Under a heat strobe, you can see that the sword cross is surrounded on both sides by the wings and the Q-U-D lines up on the blade of the cross. It’s quite meticulous.”

Dean nodded as he listened. “Thank you Dr. Kaplan,” he extended his hand, “you’ve helped us a lot.”

The metallurgist shook her head, “Phoebe, please, and it was my pleasure. It’s an interesting little piece you’ve got. Call me,” she closed up her case and inched toward the door, “if you have any questions or need anything else.”

“Pure Silver?” Rufus turned toward Dean his brows furrowed in question as Kaplan left the War Room.

“Yeah,” Dean fingered the small silver rectangle, “pure silver wards off evil. Demons can’t touch it, that kind of thing. It was a hunch.”

“Good one,” Rufus waved off the rest of the team to get to their planes. In minutes the room was cleared but for Dean and Rufus. “How you holding up, kid?”

“I’m good, sir,” Dean answered but it had no ease to it. “Listen, I’ve got an idea on who could give us a hand.”

Rufus nodded, “Thought you would when you asked. Who’d you have in mind?”

“Rimi Singh and her partner, Mackie Janisson.”

“We need some women on this, huh?”

“They’re both good interviewers,” Dean answered, “and that’s what we need. Plus, they’re smart and quick.”

“I’ll call their chief.”

Dean grinned, “Tell Uncle Bobby I say, “Hi.”

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
As soon as the plane leveled out, Garth took out the five folders that represented the five victim’s families that they were about to interview. There was a sixth possible but very little to go on since the body, while it fit the profile, had a tentative TOD in 2005. There were no signatures that they’d identified but the timeframe of the boy, Curtis Oldfield, fit.

Dean gave him a tired smile as he opened the folder for Michigan’s Brad Harrison. They’d also be seeing the families of Illinois’ Derek Kovack, Wisconsins’ Steven Jarrold, Indiana’s George Reynolds, and Ohio’s Robert Bertrand. Talking to the families of the dead boys wasn’t something anyone looked forward to doing. It was, as so many things are, a necessary evil.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
The air had that not-quite-cold crisp feeling that most autumn nights held in this part of the country. The trees still showed off their vibrant golds, oranges and reds. The sun’s warmth was quickly waning as the show got underway.

The faces of the innocents were graced with the rosy cheeks brought out by healthy play and the excitement of sweet treats that were not an everyday affair in these parts. The scent of the innocent’s rivaled that of the sweets they favored.

It was too bad that none of them would be recruited tonight. So many would be suitable to God’s work. But, it wasn’t time yet.

Patience. Patience is the way. With patience the soldier will be shown.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Dean drove the nondescript rental car through a neighborhood that was a ride back in time for him. He knew Sam had been keeping an eye on him. “I know you’re trying to take some of the tension off me, Sam,” Dean broke the comfortable silence of the car, “you don’t have to, I don’t want you to.”

Sam let out a nearly silent amused huff, “It’s what friends do, Dean. It’s what partners do.” He shifted in the cramped car seat toward Dean as much as the seatbelt would allow, “I know this case is running you ragged.” He held off Dean’s protest, “Uh-uh, it’s getting to you MORE than it’s getting to the rest of us. I know it’s got to do with something in your past, with your brother?”

He saw Dean stiffen and knew he hit a nerve. “I’m not going to force you to tell something you don’t want to, but I’m here when you’re ready.”

Dean jutted his chin toward the windshield and then nodded as he side glanced at his partner, “I know, Sam. Thanks.” His voice was nearly a whisper and it seemed as if he was talking to Sam from a distance. Swiftly moving the car to the curb, Dean pulled in front of a ranch-style cedar-sided home. Centered front door, three concrete stairs up with a metal railing flanked by two large windows.

“127, this is it,” he shut the engine and smoothly exited the car. Dean stood for a moment and looked over the house, the neatly trimmed hedges, small but well-kept lawn, a bike leaned against the railing, he could hear a dog barking in the backyard.

As Sam knocked on the unassuming front door, it was opened swiftly. They’d called ahead, so they were expected. No one wanted to talk to a parent about their deceased child just out of the blue. The woman who answered was in her early thirties, slightly stoop shouldered but slim with the red-rimmed eyes of someone who couldn’t stop crying. As she looked at their badges fresh tears fell.

“Come in, please,” she stepped back to give them entrance. The small living room held her husband and the two older siblings of the late ten-year-old Steven Jerrold of Hallenback, Minnesota.

“You can tell us what happened to our boy,” Mr. Jerrold asked without any preamble.

Dean’s mouth was a taut smile. “Sir, honestly, at this point, we have only theories. Good ones. Strong, but nothing concrete.” He stood straighter, “I'm going to find out what happened to your son, that much I can promise you.”

“It’s why we’re here,” Sam added, “we’re hoping you can tell us about Steven the day he went missing. Where you were. Who you were with. If you met anyone that made you feel,” Sam paused, “off.”

Mrs. Jerrold dabbed tears away, “And this will help you? You said you’re with a special part of the FBI,” her voice hitched, “there are others?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean answered, “about thirty all together.”

She straightened up and pointed them toward seats as she sat on the sofa, “I, we,” she looked over at Steven’s brother and sister, “will tell you whatever we can.”

Benny scratched at his beard as he left the Leiper’s Fork, Alabama home of the, now, deceased, Blake Stosser. The bungalow-style clapboard home with the cheery green shutters would never be the same.

“That was rough,” Gary, normally taciturn, observed as they wound their way down the cement walkway that cut through the miniscule lawn rimmed with an overflowing edge garden. The Stossers had been as helpful as they could be. And hospitable, as the four adults and Blake’s little sister sat in the cramped but scrupulously clean living room.

“Yeah,” Benny murmured as he tried to erase the vision of nine-year-old Blake riding up the drive on his bike with his friends and running into his home to have some of his mama’s lemonade.

“Holy hell,” Charlie groused as she and Rufus, climbed back in the car after a grueling hour in the lovely home of the late Cary Winters. “This is only our second family and I’m not sure I can handle another one.”

Rufus looked back at the brick façade of the Glendale, Kansas home that had been the place where ten-year-old Cary had once played with his friends. He pictured him rolling down the slight hill that was carpeted with an obviously well maintained lawn. Trees trimmed, home neat and tidy, inside and out, rockers on the porch. Little Cary was a good boy, his mother said. Sometimes he liked to wander off, but what boy didn’t. He was a curious kid. Smart, too, she said. Cary’s father had little to say, just commanded them to find the pervert who took his boy.

.

.

.

 


	8. Chapter Seven

 

**_Home of Dean Winchester & Sam Wesson, Alexandria, Virginia_ **

Weeks of slogging through case files of victims who never passed the age of ten will take its toll on most, except the psycho and sociopaths that littered society. And they were seemingly prevalent in the US. Maybe it was the sheer numbers of people in the country. But India and China had more people and yet not nearly the level of physical crime.

With every folder, of every pre-adolescent victim, Sam watched Dean get increasingly angry and anxious in equal measure. The day was fast approaching for their unsub to strike again and they were no closer to identifying her. Dean was sure the unsub was female. But at this point there were too many females that fit or could fit the profile.

As new sites were discovered there were more interviews and logic said that each one was another step closer to finding the unsub Dean usually referred to as ‘This Bitch’. But each step closer was too slow, too many places and people to cover and it was becoming more painful for the entire team. And Sam was watching Dean unravel by the day.  And tonight had been the worst. He should have just run after him.  Instead, he spent hours trying to find him.

_When Dean went off on Kevin, the most unassuming of the entire team, Sam knew he was passed the end of his tether._

_Rufus held Sam back as he stood to chase after his partner. He knew that Dean was wound tight, but he didn’t recognize how tight. “You can’t help him,” Rufus growled, “if you’re as agitated as he is. He gets like this and it blows over and he’s gonna kill himself apologizing to Kevin.” He looked over at the slightly pale Tech._

_Kevin shook his head having heard Rufus admonish Sam, “He was totally right. I deserved every word. I’m too naïve sometimes. Too shielded by the keyboard.”_

_“Not true,” Sam protested. “Can I ask what you said? It would probably be helpful to know.”_

_Kevin blushed and swiped his too long bangs out of his eyes, “I said that at least this unsub wasn’t violent.” He hung his head back and growled in exasperation. He looked back at his chief and Sam, “And Dean just lost his shit.”_

_Closing his eyes his memory replayed every word of Dean’s anger, ‘How can you say that This Bitch isn’t violent! She lures little boys from their parents, gives them a fuckin’ sucker more than likely laced with poison and kills them’ He leaned toward Kevin, his voice cold as a glacier, eyes hard as steel, ‘HOW is killing not violent? Because there’s no gore? No blood? No torture? Do we even know if these boys ever see what she’s doing to them? Do they feel anything? Know what she has planned? Are they scared? There’s gotta be a time, Kev, that they’re fuckin’ petrified even for a second, a minute, hell, a moment! How is that not violent!’_

_After relating the details to Sam and Rufus, Kevin called it a night and left the AVU War Room and hopped on his scooter to get home._

_Sam let out a long tired sigh, “Dean was wound up before we even got here,” he admitted quietly. “We should have just gone home.”_

_“The Genelli _’s_?”_

_Sam let out a soft huffed snort, “They just found out that their son would never be coming home again. I’m not a parent and I’ve talked to dozens who’ve already known that their sons were gone. You know, Dean stayed with the Genelli _’s_ through the identification.” His shoulders folding in on themselves and his voice got quieter, “Their son is dead. They took it as well as anyone could.” He looked away for a moment. “I think, in some weird way, the mother took some comfort in knowing that her son wasn’t molested or tortured in any way. She said it was good he died without pain.”_

_Rufus quirked a surprised brow._

_“Dean explained how their son died.” Sam swallowed thickly, “You should have seen him, sir. God, he was great. Gentle, compassionate, told them,” he looked up at his chief, “they’re Catholic, and he told them of all the gifts that their Jake had received to assure him a place in Heaven. He told them that he was sure that there was truly a special place for these boys.”_

_“The woman,” Sam let out a soft sigh and pinched his eyes, “she kissed Dean and thanked him for telling her about her Jake. The husband was just angry. But he thanked us too.” He looked up at Rufus, “The kid was nine fuckin’ years old. Nine!”_

_Rufus nodded and ran an exhausted hand over two day stubble. “Go find him.” He looked and locked eyes that mirrored his own concerns for his lead agent and friend. “You know about Harvelle’s and Danny’s?”_

_Sam gave Rufus his patented are-you-serious look. “Uhm , yeah, I’m a detective, ya know?”_

_“Do tell!” Rufus chuckled, “He’s probably at either one of those. Don’t let him do too much damage. He’s too valuable.”_

_Sam nodded and headed out._

_He tried both of Dean’s favorite watering holes, but came up empty. He tried his two favorite burger joints and came up empty there too, but came away fed. He had no idea where to look at this point. Dean could be anywhere. He knew this city so much better. Swiping open his phone he tapped the icon for Charlie._

_She answered as if she’d been waiting for the call. “Sam. I’ve been monitoring all Dean’s cards. I’ve got nothing.”_

_“You’re kidding,” he started speed walking to the corner and tried to hail a cab at the same time._

_“Kevin called,” she let out a soft groan, “told me what happened, I’ve been monitoring ever since.”_

_“I know where he is,” Sam interrupted, “I’ll call you later.” Pocketing his phone he took off on a run. He was more than thirty minutes from their condo. He got there in twenty. He took a couple of steadying breaths before he breached the door._

_A single table lamp shone partially on Dean sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa. His eyes ran a quick circuit around the living and dining room. Nothing appeared to be broken. Nothing except his partner, his lover, his Dean._

_Kneeling beside him, Sam took the empty glass and the half empty Crown Royal bottle from his hand. Dean’s usually bright curious eyes were clouded with a bleary alcohol haze. “Sam.” He squinted as he tried to focus._

_Sam took his face in his hands, “I wish you would just talk to me, or to Rufus, or, hell, Benny. But you can’t, you shouldn’t do this to yourself! Kevin is okay. Kid’s got a thick skin.”_

_Dean shook his head, “I shuddn’ havdunit. Kev’niz a kid.”_

_“He’s fine, you lost your temper, you’ll say sorry,” Sam reassured him, “And, Dean, man, you were so great with the Genelli’s! You, and I don’t even know how you did it, but you made it better for them.”_

_Dean snorted like a bull bleating to attack._

_“No!” Sam grabbed his face harder, “You will listen. And no, the Genelli’s will never have their son back, but killing yourself won’t make it better.”_

_“Sam.” Dean’s single word in his best who-are-you-kidding-here tone nearly broke Sam._

_“Don’t ‘Sam’ me. We need you, Dean,” Sam tugged him up, “there are boys out there that you’re going to save. It has to be you. The team will help, but this is your thing. You understand these religious nut cases. And you can beat them.” He held Dean’s left arm around his shoulder and wrapped his right arm around Dean’s waist, “You can beat them because you know them. You lost this battle. But, you and me, Benny and Gary, Rufus and Charlie, Kevin, Garth, Gabe, we’re going to win the war, and to do that we need our general.”_

Sam finally coaxed and manhandled Dean into bed. Stripping Dean down, Sam laid him face down on the bed. Kneeling behind him he was able to give his partner a full back massage. It wasn’t long before Dean’s body relaxed and his breathing evened and deepened. Sliding down Dean’s legs, Sam sat back on his haunches before easing off the bed. Covering Dean he stood for a moment watching the expansion and contraction of the, now, relaxed muscles of Dean’s back before quietly slipping out of their room.

The bright lights of the kitchen cut through his corneas after the dim lights of the bedroom. Standing against the door jamb, he hung his head back against the sturdy wood. He hated the way Dean was reacting to this case. He knew his partner’s ability to focus was fierce. Steadfast. Persistent. Dogged. But this case was hitting him harder than so many others. Pushing away from the door he reached for the fridge. Settling at the dining table he took a sip from his juice glass and swiped his tablet on.

Taking a deep breath he looked toward the bedroom. Sitting back and after mashing his hand through his hair enough times to feel each strand he finally started to key in the information he wanted from the all-knowing internet. He’d convinced himself, finally, that it was time to do a bit of digging into his partner’s life. Tonight, it was time to unearth some secrets. Not all of them, but one particular that was the pinnacle of what makes Dean tick and, if nothing else, this case popped the head on that festering pimple.

He’d promised never to look. He’d promised that ‘Sammy Winchester’ would never be investigated by him. And in the almost six months that they’d been together as Life Partners he hadn’t. Now, he really felt he had no other choice. And Google wasn’t going to do it.

His hacker skills were a bit on the lax side but he’d prepped for this, months ago. He logged into the FBI database on crimes against minors, then linked to the Texas LEOs. His finger hovered over the ‘enter’ key as he sent up a silent prayer that his lover, his partner, his friend would forgive him. The screen populated first with the standard Missing Minor reports.

With another stroke, string after string of information sites the one that tugged his interest the most had the headline, ‘SAMMY! WHERE ARE YOU?’ His throat closed as he tamped down his initial reaction. But while reading the reporter’s account of how Sammy Winchester’s older brother by four years went out daily looking for his brother, he blinked repeatedly to keep the tears that that stung from falling.

“Oh, God,” Sam whispered to the empty room as he looked again toward the bedroom he shared with Sammy’s older brother. He turned his attention back to the article. It wasn’t a sensationalist piece or a toilet rag paper. It was a nationally recognized paper and he was familiar with the man’s name on the byline. This was a snapshot into Dean’s nightmare. It was a nightmare that started more than twenty-five years ago and drove almost everything about his partner.

Almost two hours later Sam crawled into bed and slid behind Dean. He wrapped his arms gently around him and settled himself to finally get some sleep. If sleep would come. He grimaced as the clock ticked over to one in the morning and leaned into Dean's soft sleepy warmth.

 

**_November 1, 2010… The AVU War Room_ **

The days were flying by as another month was ripped off the calendar. Another day was ‘X’d’ from the 27 days that were still between them and the Angel Boy Killer’s next date.

Sam tore open the packet of candies that Gabe threw to him in honor of the previous day’s Halloween. “Trust me, Sammy,” Gabe winked at him, “there’s a good amount of the Gummi’s in there.”

Dean strode into the room followed by Garth and Kevin. Benny was back in his Louisiana home office conducting the investigations on two victims. Garth was handing off his notes to one of the admins on the last of the investigations he’d been on with Dean and Sam. He slouched as he took his seat and let out a long sigh. The normally chipper man was as subdued as the rest of the team.

Shuffling the papers that Dean took from his case he quickly made some notes before handing then off to one of the admins as she walked past. He looked around the team as he sank back into his chair. The pall was oppressive in the room. Everyone had worked long days and nights, plus they’d been in multiple locations.

Their chief hurried through the door already calling for Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean answered as he sat up. “What’s up?”

Rufus grinned, “I think I’ve got news that will make you, all of us, happier.”

Dean’s raised brows asked the question as eloquently as the ‘what’s’ coming from the others in the room.

Rufus lifted one leg to sit on the end of the table. “Bright Thorn Circus and Crown of Heaven Ministries are on the move again.” He handed off a schedule to Kevin and one to Dean.

Dean nearly shot out of his chair, but paused and turned toward Charlie’s console, but only found Kevin. “Hey, Kev!”

“You want the map up with the marked locations?”

“Thanks,” Dean answered as he swiveled to look at a display that was practically embedded in his memory now. “So, they’re heading south right?” He spun around toward his chief, as his question hung in the air.

Rufus nodded, “That’s the schedule. Might be partial, Charlie’s checking on it, now.”

Dean looked over the dates. Nodding he looked up at the combined displays, “Both are going to be in Kentucky on the third,” he mused, “day after tomorrow.” He followed his finger down the page, “Georgia,” he looked over at Sam and then back to Rufus, “we could get her in Georgia.”

Rufus ticked his head to the side with a grimace, “We could, except for the fact that we have nothing on this unsub that lets us say yay or nay on her.”

“Chief!”

“No, Dean,” Rufus cut him off, “I know you’ve worked hard on this, and that’s an understatement, we all have, but we have no DNA that isn’t the victims, we have no trace evidence linking these murders to any one person.” He swallowed back a pained snort, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was some sort of divine intervention.”

“Except that our unsub is just that good,” Dean re-took his seat.

“And that well practiced,” Sam added, “don’t forget that. Very well practiced. From what we know so far she’s responsible for more than thirty deaths.

Dean nodded as he scrubbed the stubble on his chin, “And I think there are more, Sam.”

His partner nodded, “I know.”

“But,” Rufus interrupted them, “we’re closer every day. That’s what,” he eyes swept over his team, “we all have to keep in mind. Last week we took down a molester in Nevada, we’ll get this one too.”

Heads nodded around the room. Tired bodies sat up from previously slumped positions, smiles started to spread and energy started to grow.

“Okay, so,” Rufus turned toward Dean and Sam, “you’re going to be point in Georgia. They’re supposed to be there for two days, someplace called, Dahlonecca, it’s in the northern part of the state.”

Sam grabbed a set of notes and flipped through them quickly, “Both the ministry and the circus were in Georgia before, okay they were probably there a few times, but we have a victim in Forsithial, northwest of Vallessa in October 2007.”

“Plus, we have another body,” Dean added, “full decomp from another Georgia site that we haven’t ruled out.” He looked long at his chief. “I want to go to the circus.”

His chief’s brows nearly shot off his head, “You do?”

Dean’s lips formed a tight line as he nodded, “Yeah. Need to. Only way we got to find this bitch.” He sat back and pursed his lips in thought, “We need a connection. Anything.” He swiveled his chair toward Rufus, “I asked Charlie to dig deeper into the circus and the ministry on the downlow. See what she can find that connects them, if anything.”

“She told me,” Rufus rolled his pen between his hands, “good call. It could give us nothing though.”

“I know.” He pulled himself up in his seat, “I think we need to put someone in the circus, maybe the ministry.” He caught Sam’s quick intake of breath, they’d talked about this earlier. “I think we could get Sam in as a day worker.”

Rufus frowned slightly as he scratched at the underside of his chin. Finally, he nodded, “You asking or informing? And are you talking you and Sam or just Sam?”

Dean eyes crinkled in a half smile, “I’m doing a bit of both and not me, just Sam. I’ll be his brother or cousin or something so I can hang around.”

“And what’s your cover story,” Rufus asked as he glanced over at Sam, “you okay with this?”

Dean looked over at Sam and was a little surprised to see unasked questions written all over his partner. Sam leaned against the white board, “Yeah, I’m good. As long as I don’t have to be a performer, because I have zero entertainment skills, then, yeah. Whatever it’s going to take, I’m good.”

Rufus nodded, “Good, good,” he rolled his toothpick as he considered Dean’s idea, “What about putting someone in at the ministry, not in the same town, maybe in Florida, Crystalbush. You two would be on your own, for a week.” He looked from Dean to Sam, “I’m thinking Kevin or Garth.”

“Garth,” Sam and Dean said at the same time.

“Okay, then,” Rufus chuckled, “Garth it is. But only if he’s willing.” He stood and started to walk out, but turned back, “How about taking Rimi and Mackie with you?”

Dean nodded, “Girlfriends, that’d be good.”

The chief bounced his fist on the door jamb, “I’ll talk to them and to Garth. Janey will make the flight arrangements. Figure wheels up in ninety.” He bounce his fist a couple more times on the door as he locked eyes on Dean, “You gonna be okay on this?”

“If it helps us get This Bitch, Hell, I’d go to church myself for that,” Dean gave him an affirmative nod and there was no mistaking the vehemence in his tone. Rufus graced him with a half-smile and a quick nod before he headed to his office.

Sam took the seat vacated by their chief. “I wasn’t sure he’d go for it.”

Dean cocked his head to the side as he studied his partner, “You really okay with this?”

“Yep,” Sam nodded, “not a single doubt. And,” he bounced his brows, “I get a girlfriend.”

Dean let out a soft chuckle, “Seems we both do.” He stood up and collected his notes and Sam’s, “Let’s get some lunch and go pack. Heading toward the door, they almost ran into Janey Williams the Travel Coordinator, “Wheels up in ninety, guys.”

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Their plane was already in the air before Sam took the opportunity to point out the obvious to his partner.

“So, we’re going to the circus, huh?”

Dean nodded tiredly.

“That means we’ll be going to church too, huh?”

Dean gave him a short nod. He leaned his head back and tried to just relax.

Sam could see the tension in his partner just in the way he was stiffly sitting trying to appear relaxed. That kind of relaxed could hammer nails. The stretched lips that mimicked a smile that never quite made it to Dean’s eyes, the deep exhale that didn’t quite make it all the way, were just little clues to Dean’s level of tension.

And it wasn’t going to get better. At least, not anytime soon.

 

**_November 3, 2010… Cliffhall, Kentucky_ **

The brightly colored tents at the end of the roughed out lane were a universal lure. The pungent scents of exotic animals mixed with dampened hay, let you know that this was no Four-H state fair. The mouthwatering aroma of grilled hot dogs, the oily smell of fried corn dogs and French fries filled the air mixing with the cloying sweet perfume of funnel cakes and cotton candy surrounded them as Dean and Sam entered the circus grounds. They looked just like any other two people out for a Saturday afternoon at the circus.

For a child the circus smacked of excitement, fun and treats that only came once or twice a year. For an adult it was an assault to the senses. For Dean it was a momentary step back into a childhood he had no desire to revisit.

The cacophony of sounds was nearly deafening. Barkers calling for games and prizes of all kinds, hurley-gurley music that once was played by hand and now was computer generated. Pair those with the roars of animals and the braying of elephants and the discordant orchestra was only melodic to a child. Or the very young at heart.

“Hey, Tall Boy!” A barker yelled out as Sam and Dean walked passed. Sam stopped.

“Righty, you, Tall Boy,” the mustached man waved Sam over from behind the booth with the wall of balloons, “C’mon! Try your luck… just break you three of these balloons and get your boyfriend there a nice prize!”

Dean snickered at the look of awe on his young partner’s face as he waved the barker off.

“You’d think you’d never been to a circus before,” Dean groused as he pushed him gently with his shoulder.

“I haven’t.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, and put his hand out to stop Sam, “Are you kidding me?”

Sam couldn’t hold back the chuckle that bubbled out at the incredulous look on his partner’s face, “Nope. Not kidding.”

Dean’s brows arched high in disbelief, “Dude! Seriously? I thought you came from this apple pie kind of life, how could you never have gone to the circus?”

Sam frowned good-naturedly and shrugged, “My dad traveled a lot. Most military people do, you know?”

Dean rocked and tilted his head up, his eyes crinkled as his eyes locked on his partner only to give him a one sided smile and a quick head shake, “Yeah, I know about the military, but, Sam? The circus? Oh, man!”

Sam tried hard to keep a straight face only to fail miserably. Dean’s child-like chagrin at his circus deprivation was truly humorous. Sam wrinkled his nose remembering, “My mom didn’t like them. Said they were smelly and loud.” He chuckled, “She was right. And dad was always either deployed or too busy. No big deal.” Sam nearly choked trying not to laugh and then finally let it out, “Man, you should see your face! You’d think I was abused or something!”

“Well,” Dean took Sam’s upper arm, “when we’re finished with This Bitch, I’m taking you to the circus and anything else you missed as a kid. Make a list. And in the meantime,” he started to pull Sam back to the balloon booth. “You gotta do this then. Win me a prize!”

A slow smile slid up Sam’s face and settled in. It was a no-hold-barred smile paired with a low throaty chuckle that in another time and place would have done wonderful things to Dean. “You,” Sam’s smile was full glare, “are too much. And stop distracting me.” His eyes made another sweep of their surroundings. “Let’s do what we’re here to do. Did you see the Ministry’s tent?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, I saw it. Now, that’s a circus!” His eyes did a similar scan of their surroundings. “The fortune teller’s tent,” Dean nodded, “younger woman. That should be Brinelle Renner, she could fit.”

Sam nodded, “You liked the file on one of the aerialists, Michelle Donal.”

Dean nodded as he gnawed his bottom lip keeping his eyes on the crowd. “So many kids.” The adults almost faded from his sights as he honed in on the boys of the right age. There wasn’t an unhappy face among them. They were bursting with the fullness of life, with the excitement of the circus, the sugar-high of treats they didn’t always get. It was a sight Dean remembered from a long time ago. And he remembered the day he lost the ability to have that feeling.

He shook off those memories and concentrated on these boys. With that he refocused his attention on the adults. His eyes narrowed as he voraciously tracked every adult female that might be watching any boy a little too closely.

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Crown Royal_ is wholly owned by The Crown Royal Company, Norwalk, CT  
>  This was probably the first blended whiskey I’d ever tried. Very good. Smokey finish. [Visit Their Site ](http://www.crownroyal.com/)


	9. Chapter Eight

 

 

**_November 3, 2010… Cliffhall, Kentucky_ **

The afternoon walking around the Bright Thorn Circus was enjoyable, especially for first timer, Sam, but they’d gleaned little that got them closer to discovering their unsub. They’d be visiting the Crown of Heaven Revival meeting in the evening but, for now, they were heading back to the hotel Janey had booked for them which was about forty minutes from where the circus and ministry were staked. Plus, Rimi and Mackie would be arriving in the next hour along with Garth.

Garth’s geeky well-meaning nature was perfect to become a part of the church, if they could swing it. That would give them eyes and ears in both places. Dean’s knee bounced while he waded through more files that they’d not had a chance to go through in the morning wanting to get to the circus as early as possible.

Sam unzipped his suitcase and dug through it, “Hey,” he held up a couple tee-shirts, “now that I’m the newest roustabout at Bright Thorn, you think these will get the message across at the circus?”

Dean looked up to see him holding a mustard colored shirt with the Calgary crosses in the far background and in the foreground a Christ’s head crowned with thorns and the tag line, ‘The Son always rises.’

Dean let out an amused snort, “You know in the wrong hands that could be kinky.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Gutter mind!” He waved the shirt, “Too much?”

“No,” Dean huffed a chuckle, “actually, it’s perfect.”

“What about this one?” He waved a black one featuring a rising sun over a shadowed planet, boasting ‘My Life Revolves Around the Son’. Sam held up a third shirt, black with a gothic style emblem and bloody nails, with the line ‘My Savior is Tougher than Nails’. “Whataya think?”

“I think they’re all just about perfect,” Dean sat up and squinted curiously at his six foot five inch partner. “You had these? You have a secret religious fetish, you never talk about it.”

Sam collapsed on the bed. He smirked as he refolded the shirts, “I knew, know how you feel about religion, and, no, I don’t have some secret religious thing. I’m not sure United Methodists have that,” he grinned at his own little joke. He shrugged, “Dean, my family went every Sunday, though, growing up, you know. It’s just something we did.”

Dean nodded, “It’s good. Religion can be a good thing.” He studied Sam for another moment, “Are you not going to services because you’re with me?”

Sam glanced away and then ran his hands through his hair, “Jeeze I need a haircut.” He looked over at Dean and saw his brows drawing together in worry, “I guess, yeah,” he nodded, “I’ve not gone since I moved in with you.”

Dean’s brows drew up into his hairline in surprise, but then relaxed and he looked at his partner softly, “Sam,” his concern-laden tone went right to Sam’s core, “you shouldn’t do that. You need to do what’s important to you. I’m sorry you thought you had to give that up for me. You don’t.”

Sam nodded, “You sure?”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely, man!”

“Oh, and these,” he lifted the shirts from his lap, “My mom’s church group uses them to raise money, she sent them.”

There was a sharp rap on their door, Dean got up to answer it, “Awesome,” he gave Sam a slap on the shoulder, “see if she can get you some more. Couple for Garth too.” He turned before he opened the door, “Call Gabe, I’ll bet he can get you some, too.”

“Cool,” Sam slid open his phone as Dean opened the door to Rimi, Mackie and Garth.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
The surrounds of the ministry’s tent were teaming with the faithful, the skeptical and those looking for whatever would make them feel better on any given day. The family groups stood out, though. The ministry catered to families. There was a special section just for the kids, and that piqued Dean’s interest. He chuckled as he thought about Sam’s questions on how a revival ministry differed from a regular church. His question sent Garth into peals of laughter. The man cried he laughed so hard.

_When Garth finally calmed his giggles, he put a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Just remember, Brother, when the preacher holds up his hand, just yell out ‘Praise Jesus’ and you’ll be good.”_

_Mackie giggled at that, “Just follow me and Garth, and you’ll be fine, Sam. It’s just a lot of heavy, fire and brimstone kind of preaching, at least, that’s what I’ve experienced.”_

Dean stuttered out a low chuckle.

“Oh, please!” Sam groused, “You can’t still be laughing at Garth laughing at me?”

“Oh, yes, buddy,” Dean smirked, “I certainly can!” Walking through the flaps of the tent sent Dean’s memories spiraling in another direction and this one had nothing funny attached to it at all. His breath caught at the stagnant smell of the flowers he remembered. It’s still the reason he hates flowers in the house. He felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder and shook himself from his thoughts. _Focus, dammit!_

He gave Sam a small nod and pointed to seats in the back on the right. These would give them a good vantage point on the gathering as a whole. Garth and Mackie moved toward the middle left. Sam gave Rimi a short nod as she took a spot on the extreme left. They were set. Garth, Mackie and Rimi would concentrate on the service and the attendees. Dean and Sam were looking for any crossover with the circus people. Dean still couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be an absolute connection between the circus and the ministry. There are really so few coincidences in life and this just didn’t fit.

He gently nudged Sam with his elbow as two of the barkers they’d seen earlier came through an entrance on the side of what had to be the altar. Sam’s eyes scanned the conglomerate of people and noticed a few of the people they’d seen when they walked the circus. He noticed the man that hired him taking a seat close to the front of the tent. He leaned over and whispered to Dean and pointed the larger man out.

Dean gave him a nod, and was about to say something when piped in music interrupted him. It heralded the appearance of Brother Bartholomew Hart. Dean settled back and steeled himself for the Christian onslaught he’d experienced growing up.

The opening tirade made Sam jump a little as it did most. It was the preacher’s desired response.

Two hours later they joined the throng of worshippers streaming from the tent. Dean made a bee-line for the parking lot followed by Sam at a more laconic stride. Garth came out with Mackie on his arm as Dean sunk behind the wheel of the car and backed it out to pick up Sam. They’d all agreed to meet at a diner the next town over, Glenwyn.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

  
After putting in their orders, the silence at the table was strung tight enough to become it’s own instrument. Dean sat with Rimi across from Garth and Mackie, advertising their ‘couple’ status. Sam sat on the end of the booth, but under the table his boot rested lightly over Dean’s.

Dean dragged a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly, “You notice how many families were there tonight?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Do all these ministries have separate places for the kids? I mean there were some in the main audience, but the kid thing kinda threw me.”

Mackie nodded as she took a sip of her cola, “Some have it for little kids, and for the mom’s to go with babies, but so they can still hear the service. I think these guys started doing it when the churches did.”

“Hart preaching about the Soldiers of Michael threw me,” Dean stretched the straw flat just to give his hands something to do.

Heads nodded in agreement as their orders were delivered. Burgers and fries all around.

“Oh, God, we are such losers,” Rimi griped, “we all ordered the same thing.”

“And that’s bad,” Dean chided as he grabbed the ketchup.

“No,”Rimi giggled, “it is funny, though.”

As they munched they talked quietly. Garth and Mackie were going to keep a low profile until, Crystalbush. Rimi was going to visit the circus with Dean tomorrow and Sam reported for his first day on the job. Having Sam inside gave Dean a slim hope that they’d be able to find the tiny link they needed. From little acorns a mighty oak will grow. And maybe from tiny evidence a mighty case will build.

 

**_November 6, 2010… Highmount, Arkansas_ **

  
Dean absently reached for his phone as he studied the case files that he’d nearly memorized. Yesterday, he’d visited some of the past places that the circus and ministry had visited here and North of Little Roq up to Jonesboro and toward Memphis.

“Winche…”

 _“Open your laptop,” Charlie demanded._ He could hear the anxious excitement in her voice as he lifted the lid. The desktop popped on immediately and flashed a message for incoming mail. _“You are so going to love me,” Charlie sing-songed._

Dean tapped the internet icon and waited for his mail program to come up, “I already love you.”

_“You’re GOING to love me so much more,” Charlie giggled, “I think, nevermind, is your mail up, yet?”_

“Patience,” Dean scolded, “aaaannnd, it’s up!” He clicked on the message from Charlie that was tagged, ‘Read me, Love me’.”

 _“Download it,” Charlie instructed._ And Dean did as she asked. It took a couple seconds for the transfer file to imprint on his hard drive. _“Open it.”_

“I just did,” Dean’s voice sounded far away as he looked at the opening document.

_“Bright Thorn Circus is owned by Margaret Mary Hartstone,” Charlie read in his ear. “Her son, Bartholomew Hart is the pastor of the Crown of Heaven ministries. Do you know what else,” she had that happy lilt to her voice that she always got when she was particularly pleased with something she’d mined from billions of pieces of data._

Dean paused for a beat just to absorb the information on his screen. “What? What else?”

_“You are going to so love this, Bartholomew’s father, John James was a former priest of the Society of Jesus. He broke with the church when he tried to form a group called…”_

“The Soldiers of Michael.”

_“Yeppers!” He could practically see Charlie’s brows forming a frown, “How’d you know?”_

Dean sucked in a sharp breath as he glanced through the docs on his screen. He pinched his eyes under his glasses, “He was shilling for it last night in his sermon. Well, okay, not in the sermon, but it’s a feature of the ministry. It’s for men, they’re supposed to be pillars of their community, spread God’s word through good works, blah, blah, blah.”

_“See, this is where it’s really handy to be Jewish.”_

“Uhm, Maccabees?”

_“Huh, yeah, there is that.”_

“Yeah.” Dean made a soft snort, “Let’s talk more about this Margaret Mary Hartstone. She owns the circus? And I’m sure has something to do with the ministry other than that her son is the pastor.”

_“Oh, yeah,” Charlie answered, “look at the sixth page. It’s a copy of the registration of the Crown of Heaven Ministry, she’s the recorded Church Secretary. She signs all the legal papers for the church, files taxes, whatever. Kind of like an ipso facto owner, per se.”_

“This is good, Charlie,” Dean murmured as he continued reading, “really good.”

_“Are you kidding? This is fan-fuckin’-tastic,” Charlie chortled with undisguised glee. “And there’s more! Page ten, take a look at Madama Hartstone.”_

Dean looked at the photo that filled his screen and involuntarily shivered. “Well, hello, grandma!”

_“Grandma, yes,” Charlie shot back, “but look at her! I have more gray hair! She’s pretty, there’s more of her, page eleven through twenty are photos. She’s dressed well, she doesn’t look scary or threatening…”_

“And those,” Dean interrupted, “are the worst kind.”

_“Yeah,” Charlie agreed soberly. She let out a soft sigh, “I gotta go fill in the chief, he was interceding with the director on this case. There’s a lot more there, Dean. Receipts, pics, paperwork on the circus, employment reports. Go through it, there’s gotta be something we can use.”_

“In 125 pages,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “one can only hope. Call you later, oh, wait!

_“I’m here. What?”_

“Send the photos to Gabe, I’m going to send them to Benny, I have an idea.

 _“Cool,”_ Charlie answered but he could hear her already moving.

“Thanks, Charlie. Great work.”

Dean studied the photo of the woman who was very likely the unsub. She looked nice. Respectable. Hazel eyes that soft mellow dusty amber color. Hair styled to perfection, clothing impeccable in every picture. She looks so safe and that was the horror of it.

He nodded as he thought about the next step he wanted to take and the coordination it would require. He rifled through his folders and found the two other photos he needed. Any of these women could be the unsub. The Aerialist, Michelle Donal, devoutly Catholic, mid-thirties, blonde, blue-eyed, childless but not for want of trying. Husband, Pierre, quiet, reserved, brown-eyed.

He studied the third photo. Non-performer, Carolyn Sylvestria, Dietician. With the circus since ’98 two years before Donal. Dark hair, dark eyes, buxom, lost her husband and only son in a car accident in 2001. Kind open looking face. Devoutly faithful according to her own admission. And access to food product. All three had opportunity. All three looked like they wouldn’t hurt the proverbial fly.

He slid open his phone and connected in just two rings, “Gabe.”

 _“Hey, Dean-o, where are you?”_ Dean could hear the rustle of a candy wrapper in the background.

“Outside of Pine Bluffs, Arkansas, in Highmouth.” He looked at the photos again, “Listen, I want you to coordinate something for me. Get Kevin to help you out but keep it tight, yeah?”

_“Can do,” Gabe readily agreed, “whatjya need?”_

Dean explained that he wanted Gabe and Kevin to reach out to all the LEO’s in the towns of the victim’s families. He wanted them to interview the kids, parents too, but concentrate on the kids. He was sending the photos he wanted them to use in 2 photo line-ups.

“I’m going to send Rimi up to you. I’m also going to call Rufus and get him to call Bobby. His team can handle the Northwest, some of the Plains. I’m sending the same pics to Benny, but he’s got to be real DL on this. Can’t have anyone here getting wind of it.”

_“I’ll cover the Northeast, Southwest and the Midwest.” He stopped for a moment, “You remember Rodney Barrett, you met him in Michigan. He’s a good guy, I can get him to help us out up there.”_

“Good.” Dean was nodding even though Gabe couldn’t see him. “Gabe.”

_“Yeah?”_

“We’ve only got 22 days.”

_“I know.”_

Dean looked at the ended call for another few minutes before he dialed another. He scrubbed at the tiredness in his eyes and rolled his shoulders as he waited for the connection.

_“Hey, Idjit.”_

“Hey, Bobby.”

.

.

.

 


	10. Chapter Nine

 

 

**_November 7, 2010… Redholt, Louisiana_ **

Outskirts of Monroe. T minus 21 Days.  
First Sunday service with the Crown of Heaven ministries.  
Nothing special. More performers from the circus in attendance.

Sam’s noticed Barkers hand out fliers for the church.  
Met the Ringmaster. John James. Didn’t like him, something was off.  
Plus, he’s not old enough to be the father of Bartholomew Hart.  
Brother? Cousin?

 

**_November 9, 2010… Orlea, Louisiana_ **

Twenty miles outside of Baton Rouge. T minus 19 Days. Tuesday.  
Gabe started interviewing the siblings of our vics with the photo line-up.

Sam’s started to gently probe about the ownership of Bright Thorn Circus.  
He’s putting people’s reluctance to engage down to him being the newbie.

 

**_November 11, 2010… Crystalbush, Florida_ **

Fifteen miles outside of Covington. T minus 17 Days. Thursday.

First break through at the circus. Sam noticed that there is a truck farm that  
travels with them. It’s literally a field on wheels. Mostly for fresh vegetables.

Interestingly, there are also two rose bushes. Single-petalled roses. White.  
Next question, are there also bees? How can we meet the owner?

Garth and Mackie arrived today. Rimi left to help Gabe and Kevin. She’s running  
point in the Northwest area.

 

**_November 13, 2010… Marbleacres, Mississippi_ **

Dean had stayed away from the circus to avoid suspicion, but since Sam had claimed him as his older brother it was time for a visit. He ambled through the grounds as the crews, the roustabouts, were just completing staking the main tent. It was nice that some things still had that old world charm. But it gave him a shiver that evil lurked here where there should only be joy.

He saw Sam in the distance and Bronx whistled for his attention. He covered the distance between them quickly since Sam met him halfway. “Hey, bro,” Dean slugged him on the shoulder in true brotherly fashion, “thought I’d bring you a snack and maybe you could show me around, now that you’ve got the inside track.”

A quick smile had Sam’s dimples out and on full display. “I can’t believe you came down here! This is great.” Sam’s voice carried and, in part, he did it deliberately. “C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Sam took Dean down to the very end of the circus property. The area no regular customer gets to see. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I got this job today.”

“What job?”

“Apparently, all the new guys get it, but I’ve been flying low and close,” Sam explained as he wound them through stake lines and barrels, pallets and skids. “The scut job is,” he grabbed Dean’s arm, “this.”

Dean looked in the direction that Sam pointed. Two sets of what appeared to be white boxes with bugs flying around them stood about thirty feet from them.

“Sonuvabitch,” Dean whispered. “Bees.”

“Honey bees.”

 

**_November 14, 2010… Marbleacres, Mississippi_ **

T minus 14 Days. Sunday.

Spotted Margaret Mary Hartstone at services today.  Friendly. Made a point of circulating.  
Deliberately meeting the children of the families attending.

Donal and Sylvesteria in attendance also.  
Both friendly with the kids. Handed out candies.

Hartstone sat with John James, the ringmaster of the circus. He seemed  
to enjoy interacting with the kids almost too much. His job? Something else?  
Called Charlie to do some further digging into his background.

Sam noticed several people from the circus aggressively handing out  
flyers seeking members for The Soldiers of Michael.

Sam found Hartstone’s trailer. He retrieved papers she’d handled.  
Forensics will attempt to lift her prints.

 

**_November 16, 2010… Janvale, Mississippi_ **

Dean reached for his phone that was incessantly buzzing.

“Answer the damn thing, wouldjya,” Sam mumbled as he rolled over.

Blindly reaching for the offending electronic leash Dean sat up fumbling for his glasses, “Yeah.”

_“Dean, it’s Gabe. We got an ID on Hartstone.”_

“Sam!” Dean shook his partner, “SAM! Wake up! Gabe! Talk.” He looked at the clock. “Oh, hell! Gabe you are not interviewing kids at two in the morning!”

_Gabe snorted and then chuckled, “No, idiot. I’m not. But one of the little cherubs had an attack of conscience. Told mommy and daddy who then called us. I have a feeling there may be more of these.”_

“Who was it?”

_“Garrett Conrad’s sister. Sweet kid.”_

“Melanie, right? Ohio?”

_“That’s the one. And why am I not surprised that you knew who the kid was off the top of your head?”_

“Because I covered that territory, but it doesn’t matter, we’ve all got the names of these kids burned into our memories. Tell me I’m wrong?”

_Gabe snorted in agreement, “You know these cases are the ones that keep some of us up at night, make some of us drink, or pop candy like it’s Mother’s Milk. World’s a fuckin’ mess. Go, sleep. I’ll call you if we get anything else.”_

Dean wanted to do a dance for joy. It was a boon to have anyone place Hartstone with any of the victims. But Melanie was only twelve, if he remembered correctly. He checked the database on his laptop. _Dammit all to Hell! Fuck!_ He swiped the files off the ottoman that was serving as a desk. _Dammit!_

 

**_November 18, 2010… Lordale, Alabama_ **

Eighteen miles from Tuscaloosa. T minus 10 Days. Thursday.

Sam led Dean through the main tent, also known as the big top in circus parlance. Sam looked over his shoulder, “I know it’s not much,” he drew apart one of the curtain panels to the back of the tent where the performers entered, “take a look.”

Dean looked around the small area and carefully approached the older man sitting at a small table with a set of what appeared to be carving tools. “Dean,” Sam stepped up next to the worn table, “this is Fredrick Beniger. He’s a silver smith.”

The nearly toothless man raised a face to Dean that could only be described as wizened with age and hard work. The leathery skin yielded to an ingenuous smile for one so advanced in age. Sam mouthed that the man was a bit slow. “He’s very talented.” Sam gently took one of the pieces that Frederick had been creating. “Isn’t this terrific?”

Dean rubbed his thumb over the smooth silver wings that were riveted to a leather cuff. “How did you learn to do this?” Dean reached into his pocket, “Can I buy this from you?”

“Oh, sir,” Frederick shook his head, “these are the wings of an angel. Are you a Soldier of Michael?”

Dean couldn’t hide his confusion but it also bred a molecule of hope, “I like to think I am,” Dean lied to the old man. He wanted to see where this was going to lead.

“Then,” Frederick took the cuff and wrapped it around Dean’s wrist, “you must have it.” His rheumy eyes locked on Dean’s clear green, “I need naught from you. Michael will take care of me. He does always.”

Dean was thanking the man and wanted to ask him more but too many of the circus staff was coming around. As he was about to step away, he spied a rectangular medallion that was eerily familiar, “Frederick,” Dean lifted the tiny medallion, “in my work sometimes I must keep my devotion to the Arch Angel Michael a secret. I will not be able to wear the cuff, may I have this to wear at those times?”

“Oh,” Frederick beamed, “of course! It is many that must work for Michael secretly. It is yours.”

Dean took the medal in his hand and gave the old man a small bow of gratitude and quickly followed Sam away from the Frederick and the other circus staff. As they cleared the main area their stride elongated and they hastened to the arch. Stopping for a moment, they both inspected the tiny silver tab. It was exact except that this one lacked the Q-U-D.

Dean nearly ran for his car. It was imperative to get this medal to Charlie. It had to be a match to the ones on the boys. It gave them one more piece of the puzzle.

 

**_November 19, 2010… Lordale, Alabama_ **

T minus 9 Days. Friday.

The days were getting shorter. The circus was light in attendance today.  
The rain was a factor, but the revival tent was overflowing!

Hartstone was there with John James. She seems to really enjoy seeing the kids.  
John James does as well. Pastor Hart invited several boys to join him in a special prayer to Michael.

Garth is impressed with the Pastor. Says he seems to be a right guy.  
His words. Garth gave us a couple more names to check out.

Dean stopped typing in his notes and grabbed the phone. He was pacing by the second ring when Charlie actually picked up. “Charlie!”

 _“Yes, Dean.”_ He could tell she was deliberately keeping her voice neutral.

“Find out, you can find out can’t you how many fathers of the victims joined the Crown of Heavens, Soldiers for Michael, right?”

_“Oh, Dean,” she groaned, “do you not know, yet, that I can find anything!”_

“Char, we have nine days. Nine! And we have nothing concrete. Not one thing!”

_“I’m on it,” she disconnected._

He quickly sent her a text. _Find out who the hell is John James and his connection to Hartstone!_

 

**_November 21, 2010… Mallowlyn, Alabama_ **

T minus 7 Days. Sunday. Night of the Full Moon.

The service was full for the third time today. And for the third time Frederick, the smithy, joined the pastor and congregants in praying with ferocity.

Hartstone was there as usual. With John James. He’d seen the woman being solicitous of the toothless old man at other services. He sat up as Hartstone clasped the smithy’s work-roughened hands. The man smile gleamed with satisfaction and content.

Leaving the smithy, Hartstone’s gaze hungrily tracked several boys as they gathered waiting for their fathers. Dean tracked her and nudged Sam who gave him a small ‘thumbs up’ that he noticed. He kept his eyes locked on her to the right was a cadre of men, he sidled over to join them with Sam in tow. Pastor Hart was extoling the virtues of becoming a Soldier of Michael. As the pitch ended, Dean noted the men who retrieved sons before leaving. He sought Garth who was pinned to Hartstone. Her eyes lacked the warmth and interest they showed earlier. Now, they seemed to inspect the boys.

 

**_November 22, 2010… Mallowlyn, Alabama_ **

T minus 6 Days. Monday.

“Sam,” Garth called to him at the end of the revival service. He glanced to his left and watched  
Dean stalking away, his every footfall telegraphing his anger. He turned back to Garth, “Yeah?”

Garth jerked his head toward the wooded area behind the massive tent, “Not here.” They passed Mackie talking with one of the women from the service. She was on Hartstone, on the QT, her excuse, if caught, that she wanted to learn from the older woman.

“Okay,” Sam turned to Garth, “talk.”

“Dean was at the service, it was the usual fire and brimstone crap, but it seemed to get to him more. And, that, my friend, could mean very bad things.”

“I know that, hell, we all know that.” Sam ran his hands through his too long hair, “He was supposed to get a report from Rufus or Charlie about the fingerprints. I won’t be able to leave here until late, gotta help repair the elephant pens.”

Garth nodded, “He got it. They got good prints from what you gave them. But not a full match to the partials they were able to lift from the September 26, August 1 and the May 30 victims. Neither forms a full print, but they’re from the same person. Female. That’s all they got. Those two were the most recent and our only shot, but we knew that.”

“How many points? What about the tunic, the burial sheet,” Sam tried not to sound as exasperated as he felt, “you know we’ve got less than six days.”

“And you know, we’re not going to make it,” Garth made the observation so matter-of-factly that if you didn’t know him, you’d think it cold. “They got a 4-point match, Sam, it’s not enough. And Dean knows we’re not going to make it. We don’t have anything.”

“Shit, we need 9 points, at least,” Sam closed his eyes for a moment and breathed through the frustration boiling in his veins.

“Nothing from the tunic, too much salt,” Garth went back to the business at hand, “Nothing on the burial sheet except some particulates that can lead us to the original murder site.”

“This is impossible!”

“No,” Garth reassured him, “it’s just not going to be as clean or cut and dry as it should be. Or that we’d like it to be.”

Sam looked back toward the ministry’s tent, “Any involvement there?”

Garth shook his head, “Not so far. Just good old-fashioned preachin’.” He thought for a moment, “There was a mild disagreement, Ms. Hartstone wanted the pastor to preach a certain gospel. He declined saying he’s preached it already many many times. Hartstone insisted. Said it was important.”

“Which gospel, did you hear?” Garth shook his head, “no, she called it my special gospel.”

Sam didn’t get back to the hotel room until later than normal. It was almost midnight when he eased through the door. He’d seen Dean earlier stalking away from the revival meeting with enough force to shake the ground. He knew his partner was tense they all were.

“Hey,” Dean looked up from his notes taking a sip from his drink. He didn’t seem in any better spirits than he’d been in earlier. “You’re really late. You okay?”

Sam was taken aback by his partner’s seemingly relaxed attitude. “Yeah,” Sam shrugged out of his sweatshirt, “Had to do repairs. I’m hittin’ the showers. You want to go over the case?”

“You mean the case where we know we’re standing right in front of the murderer but can’t prove it so another kid is going to die? That case?”

Sam nodded, “That would be the one.” A sarcastic Dean was never a good thing. A sarcastic, drinking Dean was worse. Sam decided to ride this where ever it was going to go.

“What would be the point,” Dean asked as if they were discussing where to have dinner.

“The point is to catch This Bitch,” his retort dripped with his own frustration. “Garth told me about the prints. They got two partials off the Victims of May 30, August 1 and September 26 …”

“You mean from the Genelli kid, the Koza kid and the Lawson kid.”

“Yeah, Genelli, Koza, Lawson,” Sam grimaced, “anyway, that’s going to help us,” he rushed on as Dean tried to interrupt, “no, maybe not right now, this second, but it will help. AND we have her prints now.”

“But only a 4-point match, Sam,” Dean shot back bitterly, “we need a 9-point or better!”

“And we’ll get it!”

“How?” Dean took a sip of the bourbon in his hand, “By watching her kill the kid in Georgia and then following it?”

Sam nodded, “Probably. Yeah. And it sucks. But right now we have a lot of nothing. We have a lot of circumstantial nothing and you know that!”

“I know!” Dean slammed the glass down on the cheap hotel desk, “Fuck, Sam! I hate This Bitch!”

“Yeah,” Sam let out a sigh that was laced with frustration, disappointment and sheer fatigue.

 

**_November 25, 2010… Valmead, Georgia_ **

Outside of Tifton. T minus 3 Days. Thursday. Thanksgiving.

The circus is quiet. It’s a holiday even for the circus.  
The ministry will be preaching as usual in the evening.

The AVU team met in a rented house twenty miles from Tifton. Small place.  
Unassuming street. Just the kind of street where the unsub’s victims should grow up.

This is the first time they’ve all been together since the beginning of the month.  
Gabe, Benny and Gary arrived first and took care of food for all of them.  
Mackie and Rimi along with Charlie were setting up a makeshift War Room for the day.  
Rufus arrived with Kevin.  
Dean and Sam arrived with Garth right behind them.

No one would be sitting down to a Thanksgiving feast in this house.  
In this house the only thing on the table was how to catch a killer.

“We’re not going to get her this time,” Rufus said what everyone knew and either hesitated to say or limited themselves to saying it in the confines of their  
own mind. “We need to revise our strategy.”

Charlie took the lead, “We finally got intel on John James, who is actually, John James Hartstone the second, born out of wedlock to her and his father, who left priesthood. I don’t think it’s a leap that he left because of his affair with Margaret Mary and the resulting pregnancy.”

Murmurs of surprise bubbled up from everyone at the table. Charlie looked over at Dean who didn’t seem all that surprised, but more thoughtful. “Dean? I can feel you thinking.”

He gave her a half smile, “It explains her honoring Mary Magdalene’s Day, May 25. Magdalen is the second most famous ‘Mary’ after the Holy Mother. She identifies with her,” he paused for a moment, and nodded to himself more than to the others, “this is her atonement. She’s a sick bitch. She sees this as her atonement for taking the priest from the church. And for being a wonton.”

“Jeeze, cher,” Benny snorted, “what the hell?”

“Sometimes, Dean-o,” Gabe chided, “your head is a scary place.”

Charlie shivered as she mulled over Dean’s words. “Okay, that’s just, ewww,” she let out a soft sigh, “but continuing. Something interesting about the Soldiers of Michael. Dean asked me to find out if any of the men who son’s were killed were asked to be members. All of them were and all of them refused for one reason or another.”

Dean stood from his chair, “Knowing that, gives us a tiny leg up on who might be a possible victim. Let’s review where we are and then move forward. We’ve got several ID’s from kids that saw their brother being approached by Hartstone. That’s not proof. We’ve got surveillance photos of her interacting with kids, boys and girls, handing out suckers. Not proof.”

“We’ve got the silver smith,” Sam picked up, “who makes the medallions and we know how he hands them off to her, but, it’s not proof either. She has access to the roses, the bees, milk, honey, salt. “

“We’ve got receipts,” Charlie added, “that match the fabric on the tunic. And for pesticides, she can get enough poison from those to kill a child, plus she has access to ketamine here at the circus. She orders it for them. And she’s got a personal prescription for the sleeping pills that are used on the victims.”

“And all of this is still circumstantial,” Benny looked over at Rufus and the question was evident.

“It is,” the chief confirmed, “unfortunately.” He looked around the table, “We know how she works. We know, now, that all the victims were buried in a church or a cemetary, consecrated ground. We know a lot that we can use.” He held Dean’s gaze, “I want This Bitch and I want her put away until she draws her last breath. I know you do, too. So, let’s do that.”

“Gary and I’ve been keeping surveillance on her for the past two weeks.” Benny reported and summarized what they already knew. “She doesn’t go anywhere special. We’ve seen her visit some odd places, parks, a cemetery. We’re doing a quiet search for a reason for her to be there. We don’t want to alert her. She’s attended Mass a couple times.”

“I think what we need to do,” Dean leaned against the doorway, “is just what the chief said. We need to start collecting everything we can on her. Go through her garbage, that’s public domain, no warrant needed, see what we find. If we move in on her with the next victim we tip our hand and she could change her whole MO, but it’s not likey. She’s driven.”

“Yeah, but,” Sam interrupted, “if we get her with the boy before she does anything,” he stopped himself, “no, she could say she was just giving him a sucker.”

Dean smiled tightly, “There is no good scenario here except the one with her in cuffs.” He sucked in a deep breath, “So, we collect everything we can. Benny and Gary will keep her under surveillance. Mackie will keep dogging her.” He looked around a table of resigned faces, “We’re going to lose this boy, but I don’t want him to die in vain. He’s going to be our hero here. He’s going to be the one to give us Margaret Mary.” He stood straighter, “Benny, get pictures of her everywhere. She’s going to do it in Dohlonecca, and she’s going to dump him in the next stop, which is in Blue Lake outside of Augusta. As soon as she dumps him, we take him back.”

“We should be able to get good prints from his body,” Garth added, “he’ll be,” he hesitated.

“Fresh,” Dean supplied.

And that thought laid uncomfortably with everyone.

 

**_November 28, 2010… Dohlanecca, Georgia_ **

Outside of Tifton. T minus 0 Day. Sunday.

Another boy died today. There was no way to stop it.  
No way to avoid it short of locking away every blue-eyed 8 to 10 year old boy in the south.

 

**_November 30, 2010… Blue Lake, Georgia_ **

Outside of Augusta. T plus 2. Tuesday.

Benny followed the normal looking silver Monte Carlo from a safe distance. Behind him were  
Mackie and Rimi. They were back up if he was spotted. He doubted it would happen Margaret Mary was  
flying high on her latest kill and had the hubris of success.

They’d been driving for about an hour when she pulled into a small churchyard.

Three hours later he swiped open his phone. The first ring hadn’t finished before it was answered.

“You got him?”

“We got him, Dean. We’re on our way to the Augusta ME.”

“I’m already here.”

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.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Monte Carlo_ is a registered trademark of the Chevrolet division of General Motors, Inc. [Visit Their Site ](http://www.chevrolet.com/)


	11. The Epilogue

 

****

 

**_March 2012… One Year Later_ **

It had taken months and months for the AVU and the various state and county police departments and medical examiners to organize the documentation on what had become known as the Case of Michael’s Soldiers. It was a very pretty name to attach to the murder of over thirty boys in the full bloom of childhood.

Her last victim, Hunter Perrine, of Cherokee County, Georgia was nine years old. He liked baseball and gum. Loved his video games and his bike equally. He was very protective of his younger sister. His mom said he was a happy boy and very curious about everything. Without him, Margaret Mary Hartstone would still be killing boys that could be his friends.

It would still take some time to identify the remains of the boys that were the first victims of Margaret Mary Hartstone. The burial sites and towns may have matched the profile of the locations. The dates may have been correct and, indeed, Margaret Mary would have been in that location at the right time. The sex and age of the decedent may have been perfectly correct. But in these instances the skeletal remains and the passage of time had made the gifts Hartstone left with the victims either unidentifiable or completely gone.

Those victims still wearing the medallion were the easy ones. The more difficult were the few who did not have it, and there could be so many reasons for this. Although silver doesn’t just get absorbed into the earth, not in the true sense, but it was only the size of half a postage stamp, it could have been washed away or sunk deeper into the ground. The graves were shallow and they could have been robbed of the small jewelry.

No one would ever know for sure.

 

**_September 2012, Another Six Months Later_ **

Dean had finally started to put the case he referred to as the Angel Boys in the archives of his mind, officially it was dubed the Case of Michael’s Soldiers. But the victims weren’t soldiers, they were boys. He’d wrapped up a paper on the murderer’s profile and the psychological markers that were now so easy to see in the woman. He’d included her elaborate method for choosing the dates of her crimes. Part of him was pleased that the paper he’d written was so well received and another part of him wished he’d never had to write it.

Today’s class discussion of the case brought back too many feelings he’d tried to put aside when Margaret Mary was incarcerated. The only good feelings he cared to remember were those of triumph and satisfaction. That’s what kept him and the AVU team going as they finally got closer to getting the bitch that decided creating her own army of children to send to the Archangel Michael was a good idea.

As his class emptied out, he leaned against the battered oak desk and opened his phone to a text from Sam. He smiled getting the nonsense Sam had started sending while he was teaching. Dean knew it was just to make him smile. And it did.

Right behind Sam’s message was one from the ME in California, Dave Gallanna.

_Something interesting you should see._

Dean clicked on the attachment icon. A photo opened up showing a white flowering shrub at the base of a small hill. He looked more closely at the picture and knew immediately where it was. The Stonehill Cemetery outside of Salinas, California.

He flipped open his phone and dialed Dave. He looked quickly at his watch. _Good. Just five there._  
Dave answered on the second ring with a wry chuckle, “Well that didn’t take you long!”

“You’re not pranking me on this, right?”

“Never.” The doctor’s voice got quiet. “I think you’ve got your Victim Zero, Dean.” He waited a couple seconds, “I checked with the Head of the Botany Department at Berkley. It’s possible. This is real. This means this boy was buried with the flower, these are the seeds.”

“After all this time,” Dean didn’t bother to hide his disbelief. “How can you be sure this isn’t the work of some of those religious nuts who’ve been hanging around the grave sites?”

Dave let out a chuckle, “I had the botanist test this flower against the ones we’ve got in evidence. They’re the same, Dean.” He let out a small sigh, “Look, I’m a scientist, I don’t believe in miracles. And this isn’t one. This is Mother Nature doing what she does. The botanist, whose name is Koster Keitherton, by the way, thinks that once the wax paper was washed away the seeds just had enough moisture to germinate. That’s all.”

Dean let out a huff that was nearly between a chuckle and a sob. “I think I can’t believe it.”

“You know what I’d really like to see,” Dave mused.

“What?”

“The look on Hartstone’s face when you tell her you found him first.” Dave indulged in a short chuckle, “I’d pay money to see that!”

“Yeah,” Dean started walking to his car again, “A picture’s worth a thousand words. I’ll make sure to send you one.”

“Do that. Gotta go.”

**:::: :::::: ::::**

 

The cold cinderblock walls painted a soft green in an effort to be either soothing or cheerful, Dean wasn’t sure. He just knew that this prison was much too nice a place for Margaret Mary. But this was better than having her dead. Death would be too easy on her.

“Dr. Winchester?”

Dean looked up at the young woman coming through the door, “Supervisory Agent, but Dean is fine.”

The young woman frowned briefly as she looked down at her tablet, “My file says you’re a doctor of Psychology, so I just thought…”

“It’s fine,” Dean smiled, “I only use the ‘doctor’ in my classroom. And I’m not here as the prisoner’s analyst. I’m here as an agent of the Adolescent Victims Unit. So,” he looked at her name badge, “Ms. Chapelle,” he held his hand out, “it’s nice to meet you, but, now I’d like to see Margaret Mary. I’ve got some good news for her.”

  **:::: :::::: ::::**

  
Dean sat in the cold metal chair and waited. It would take a few minutes for the guards to bring Margaret Mary into the interview room. She was kept in a part of the prison with the worst offenders and in a solitary cell. If she was out in gen pop, she’d be dead within hours. Prisoners had their own code. Child molesters and child killers never lasted long. One thing people forget about prisoners is that they’ve all been children, or have a brother or sister, and too many have been molested as children. Another thing most forget is that prisoners can be fathers and mothers, too. And no one wants their kid to be prey.

He looked up as he heard the buzzer releasing the door lock. Margaret Mary stood in the gray doorway in her gray prison dress looking as regal and as grandmotherly as if she were about to attend a tea party. She looked so safe, so welcoming, so nice. And those very qualities made her the worst kind of predator.

“Agent Winchester!” She smiled what could be called beguilingly at him. It turned Dean’s stomach. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again.” She lowered herself into the metal chair on the opposite side of the table. “I don’t get many visitors these days. This makes for a very pleasant change.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean opened the leather folder that rested on the table, “I’m not here for a social visit, Maggie.” He knew she hated to be called by the diminutive. He could see her eyes harden from soft blue to ice in an instant, her lips nearly curled in a snarl. She hid it quickly and replaced the winning smile that she’d honed to perfection.

He pushed the picture toward her of the boy who’d been identified as Margaret Mary’s Victim Zero. He looked at her as she studied the picture. It made him sick to see the beatific expression on her face.

“I just wanted you to know that we’ve got them all now,” Dean leaned toward her, “we were finally able to get an ID on your first victim, Ryan Whitley, yesterday and now, Maggie,” her eyes locked on his, “we’ve, got, them, all.”

Margaret Mary held his gaze with a chill that would have scared most, but had zero effect on Dean and that irked her. After a few seconds she broke out into a tinkling laugh. Anyone would have thought she’d just heard the most delightful joke. Her laughter continued merrily and it sent shivers down Dean’s spine.

“Oh, Dean, dear,” Margaret Mary, chuckled with a deep throaty laugh, “you are so dear, really you are. So earnest, so diligent.” She shook her head and reached for his hand that he quickly drew back, “Have you found sweet Billy in Ironwood, such sweetness in such a dire place, or darling James in oh,” she smiled softly, “such a sweet little town north of Baltimore. Such believers! Have you found, oh, he was a lovely boy, sweet Sammy, and then there was a real spitfire, Robbie, oh, my there are so many and I’ve not got my,” she chuckled, “well, it doesn’t matter.” She looked at his stricken face with twinkling eyes, “My boys, my soldiers will always be out there.”

Dean pushed his chair away from the table, the legs scraped the stone floor sending a screech bouncing off the walls. He leaned over and came face-to-face with his nemesis. “You are one sick sonovabitch, Maggie, but I’ll tell you this. IF there are more boys out there that died by your hand, I’ll find them. I will find them all, Maggie, you can count on it.”

Margaret Mary’s lips stretched into a gleeful smile as laughter burbled passed them giving vent to full throated delighted laugher.

“GUARD!” Dean slid the photos into the folder and was standing at the door when the lock released. He could hear Maggie’s taunts and laughter as he hastily left the room.

He took another deep swallow of the fiery drink and found comfort in the alcohol’s burn down his throat. Maybe if he drank enough of it the sound of Maggie’s laughter would be burned out of his memory.

Her laughter had followed him to his car. It followed him as he made the three hour trip back home. It was chased by the names she added with such fondness in her voice and one name was like a bomb going off in this head. _Sammy._

He tried to ignore the names and her voice taunting him. He’d pushed the volume up so high on the car radio he was afraid he’d blow the Impala’s speaker out completely.

_It couldn’t be my Sammy. It was impossible! Oh, fuck! She’s gotta be messin’ with me!  
Not my Sammy!_

When he’d finally reached the outskirts of Alexandria he wasn’t quite sure how he got there, but in another twenty minutes he’d be home. Maybe then, he’d get Margaret Mary’s voice and laughter out of his head.

He poured another tumbler of the bourbon and ignored the spills on the wooden coffee table. He drank deeply.

“Oh, my God!”

Dean tried to raise his head. It was so heavy and he couldn’t hear all that well. He heard someone calling his name.

“Sammy?”

He couldn’t focus. His body felt like it was nailed to the floor. _Floor? I was on the sofa. I think._

“DEAN! DEAN! It’s Sam!”

“Sammy! I can’t find you. Dad’s so mad! And mom cries all the time!”

“DEAN! Dammit!”

Sam looked over at Charlie as Dean passed out again. Charlie was on her cell. She was talking quietly and then hung up. “Gabe’s on his way.” She smiled at Sam, “We’ve seen this before, well, not this bad, but we’ve got to get him up. He could aspirate.”

“Did he call you, too,” Sam asked getting on the floor and raising Dean into his lap, “is that why you were here?”

Charlie nodded as she went to get a cool towel for Dean, “He went to see Margaret Mary. She said there are more boys.”

Sam nodded, “He told me she called one of them Sweet Sammy.”

“Oh, hell,” Charlie gasped. She looked down at Dean and then locked her gaze on Sam, “It’s not his Sammy. Can’t be. The time’s wrong.”

Sam nodded, “He’s not hearing that, though. He’s hearing that there are more and his brother’s name in her mouth. Doesn’t matter that Sam’s a pretty common name.”

They heard Gabe come through the door. In only a few seconds, he was crouching in front of Sam as he held Dean. “We’ve got to get him to rehab. My brother runs a private place outside of Pittsburgh. He’s expecting us. He’s taken care of him before. We need to keep Dean upright and try to get him awake.”

“That’s hours away, Gabe!” He maneuvered Dean to a standing position and then threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“I’ve got my plane ready to go,” Gabe grabbed a coat and threw it over Dean, “we’ll be there in no time.”

Charlie was on the phone talking to their Chief as Gabe and Sam left the apartment.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

 

Sam sat by Dean’s bed while the doctor, Inias Milton, hooked him up to an IV that would keep him hydrated. “I’m going to give him something to bind the alcohol.” He looked down at Dean lying in the bed, “His pupillary response is excellent. We were able to rouse him. You know he’s had an issue with alcohol for a while so his tolerance is high.”

Sam nodded. He was still reeling from the fact that Dean had been in this state before. He’d just never seen him this bad in the two years they’d been together.

Dr. Milton leaned against the wall, “From what my brother and from what you’ve told me this came on the heels of very disturbing news.”

Sam shook his head slightly, “About the worst for him.”

Inias gave him a small smile, “He’s very strong Sam, and he’s an experienced drinker.” Sam was grateful that Milton hadn’t labeled Dean an alcoholic, even though it was accurate. “So,” the doctor continued, “he’s probably taken in more than is normal even for him. Coupled with depression or severe anxiety, he’s retreated, for lack of a better term.”

“Will he wake up?” Sam hated the way those words tasted in his mouth. The fact that something that bitch, Maggie, said to him, just made him angry. He could be angry at her because he couldn’t be angry at Dean. But he wanted to be. He wanted to slam the man up against the wall and beat the crap out of him for treating himself like this, for punishing himself for failures that weren’t his. For letting his father beat on him because his little brother was missing. Instead, he channeled his anger at the bitch that sent Dean spiraling into an abyss so full of pain, that Sam wasn’t sure he’d be able to crawl out of it.

“He will,” the doctor said with confidence, “and then we’ll get him well.” Gabe’s brother looked nothing like him. Inias was as dark headed as Gabe was light. As soon as the IV was in, Dr. Milton left the room after giving Sam a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

And Sam waited. And he prayed. Dean thought praying was for sissies, which was odd coming from a guy whose family had been devoutly Christian, church every Sunday. He hadn’t known about the Revival meetings until Margaret Mary. But Dean hated anything religious especially churches. Said they were man’s tithe to get into heaven but be a shitty person every other day of the week. It was odd coming from someone who was also an expert in religion and religious icons. He said it was important to know the enemy. And icons, as he put it, were just lumps of metal or whatever that some schmuck thinks means something.

He was such a stubborn mule sometime.

Dawn was streaking the sky when Dean started to wake. Sam hitched his chair closer to the bed. He caught his breath as he saw tears silently streak down the face of the man he loved.

“Dean,” he kept his voice soft, “you’re back. Thank, God!”

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was small, and it sounded broken and it made Sam cringe. Dean’s eyes slid to his partner and his lover, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he ran his hand over Dean’s head. Dean closed his eyes and enjoyed his Sam’s touch. He was asleep again, but this time it was from fatigue and not alcohol. Sam settled back in his chair and just waited for Dean to wake again. He knew this next time it wouldn’t be as easy.

And it wasn’t.

“Sam!” Dean’s voice held a note of panic and fear, “Sam!”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Sam took his hand.

“She,” Dean looked at Sam with fear radiating from his eyes, “Maggie, she said there are more.”

Sam nodded, “And as soon as you’re well, you’re going to find them. The team will find them. Every single fucking one of them.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes,” Sam squeezed his hand and stood to look his partner in the eye, “but you can’t beat her from inside a bottle. And you can’t beat her from the grave, Dean.”

“I’ll beat her.”

“You will. And I’ll help you, the AVU will help you.”

“I’ll beat That Bitch,” Dean said fisting the sheet in his hand, “I’ll find every one of those boys. All of us will.” He looked up at his partner, “Maybe I’ll even find Sammy, too.”

 

End

 

It is my feeling that Time ripens all things;  
with Time all things are revealed; Time is the father of truth.  
  
Francois Rabelais

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.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we've reached the end of the story... but, please take a moment to read the Acknowledgements Page which follows this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! Lisa


	12. Acknowledgements!

 

 

 

**Author’s Acknowledgements:** There are several people to whom I owe huge thanks.

To **Apieceofcake** , Jo, for creating the wonderful cover art that provided the inspiration for this story. Fantastic art of beautiful tortured Dean. It was a joy to create a story that supports such a lovely piece of art. Thank you!

To **Kyrie** who alpha’d on this story even from her sick bed. She gave valuable feedback and encouragement through every chapter of this story. Fantastic sounding board, cheerleader, proofer, reviewer, she did it all. My heartfelt and absolute thanks.

To **Stonecold46** who is a dear friend and a good alpha and beta on my extensive volume of work for a completely different fandom. She neither reads nor enjoys anything male slash or male partnered stories, but she worked on this story with me because she’s a good friend and knows I trust her. She is invaluable for always pointing out, what I like to call, the inelegant phrase. She knows how much I loathe them! She will ever-so-gently push me sometimes to say it a different way. Great gal, great friend.

To **Elensule** who proofed any time I asked. I think she was tickled that I asked since we met when I offered to work with her on her wonderful Destiel story, Roots and Wings. Your willing help is truly appreciated. To **Samaya** who was a good sounding board in the middle of the night which is the middle of her morning… Thank you! Check out her work! And to **Dragonhunter13** , who is a fellow writer in that other fandom for always being encouraging. And for reading at the drop of a hat. And finally, though they’ll never see this, to my loyal readers of the other fandom, my thanks for their patience in waiting for updates that didn’t come as I worked on this story!

 

::::::::::::::

**Copyright Disclaimers:** That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. The ownership and copyrights of Blind Pig, Woodford Reserve, Crown Royal, DoubleTree Hotels, Holiday Inn hotels, Braun and Chevrolet are duly acknowledged in the Product Acknowledgement section of this work and in the chapter in which they appear. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.

::::::::::::::

**Product Acknowledgements:**

_Blind Pig_ is wholly owned by the Russian River Brewing Company, Santa Rosa, CA  
Not a beer drinker, but friends have said this is an excellent pale ale. [Visit Their Site ](http://russianriverbrewing.com/brews/blind-pig-ipa/)

_Woodford Reserve Bourbon_ is wholly owned by The Woodford Reserve Distillery, Versailles,KY  
This is my favorite bourbon. It’s delish! [Visit Their Site ](http://www.woodfordreserve.com/)

_Braun_ is a wholly owned subsidiary of Procter and Gamble, Inc. They have a great line of men's product.[Visit Their Site ](http://www.braun.com/us/male-grooming/shavers-and-trimmers.html)

_Crown Royal_ is wholly owned by The Crown Royal Company, Norwalk, CT  
This was probably the first blended whiskey I’d ever tried. Very good. Smokey finish.[Visit Their Site ](http://www.crownroyal.com/)

_DoubleTree Hotel_ is a wholly owned entity of Hilton Worldwide [Visit Their Site ](http://doubletree3.hilton.com/en/index.html)

_Holiday Inn_ is a wholly owned entity of InterContinental Hotels Group [Visit Their Site ](http://www.ihg.com/holidayinn/hotels/us/en/reservation)

_Monte Carlo_ is a registered trademark of the Chevrolet division of General Motors, Inc. [Visit Their Site ](http://www.chevrolet.com/)

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Copyright Disclaimer:** That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. The ownership and copyrights of Blind Pig, Woodford Reserve, Crown Royal, DoubleTree Hotels, Holiday Inn hotels, and Chevrolet are duly acknowledged in the Product Acknowledgement section of this work. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.


End file.
